Archive for May, 2011

:Jersey Biking

May 30, 2011

:Jersey Biking

If you go a few miles around here in NJ, you come to a different place. I got on the tow path behind Princeton university, to Alexander St, then zipped across route 1 and explored long roads through West Windsor.

Vignette: I came across a clearing at the end of a treed suburban rd from an elementary school and looked at the children playing near the school, for the precocious unaware one like me. The sign said the field between the cul de sac and the road could be used upon permission of the principal.

I biked further eastward towards Hightstown on the flat easy terrain of Mercer County. As I hadn’t biked in a while, after the first hour I started feeling really good. I ended up at a lake, overweight Americans were commingling about and had vessels about fishing and moving. Then I tried a path among the power lines to the east of Mercer County, but the path died and had to return, then finding a road that led out to Quaker Bridge Rd, which I headed south on towards Hamilton.

Zipping through Hamilton I zipped through a park serious softball players were readying to play at.  Adolescents or early teenagers, two of them zipped by me, several times as I wove in and out of the neighborhood. The people of Hamilton are consistently so nice and polite and harmonious. I found the place my friend had moved to, and hung around outside, near the other people in other backyards. By the time it was dark, I raced back to Princeton as fast as I could, it being dark without bike lanes; but U had some lights, nor am as fast as I can, by any stretch.

At home in Princeton, the burn from the ride felt great. This was to the southern sides of Mercer County, a very flat county. Along the way I passed the house of my friend and his mother who I was friends with and spent time there. But the mother was long dead, and my friend moved to western north carolina through perilous circumstance. He is one of those people who proves the adage Crime does not Pay. It may not put you in jail, but you will certainly fail to make money from it, not that he has ever hurt people, quite the oposite.

Later on this journey I based the insurance data base company my old girlfriend used to work for, and sent her a picture of it, as people tend to forget where they were looks like. She now lives in and loves Maine, and I have to agree, Maine is a superior state, and New Hampshire doesn’t seem as bad either.

As agrarian, I am always disappointed when we pass unused fields, that the people should swiftly utilize towards their sustainability with healthy fields of vegetables. The reason society doesn’t follow this logic is society doesn’t acknowledge the Kingdom of God, indeed there are deliberate designs to obscure and ignore it. As long as basic truth is not put out there, galvanizing logic is impeded.


It’s difficult to bike two days in a row, 30 some odd miles like that; without being used to it. So I waited a day and went out to the west and north evil side of Princeton. How do I know to the west and north of Princeton is evil? My rear brake got jammed after 15 miles, my mapping was wrong, a storm thundered overhead while I crouched under a small bridge on a country road.

On the good side, there were what I call five mile straightaways, by which I mean going down hill a long ways, so long you have to duck your head to avoid the friction; and any least pull or push of the body on the bike, flicks it a certain way. And as I use my bike to explore and tauten, I learn to stay within certain ranges and loops, until they are mastered and can be expanded from.

For while to get out of Princeton to the south, and east to the shore, goes very quickly you are on the other side of route one and out of Princeton’s influence; you go north and west and it is uphill, and the worst side of Princeton lingers along way; be it through the signification of ill princes and princes Marxists assign, or American politics impugn, or actually did hold back society through medieval ages.

It takes a long way just to get to Cherry Valley and The Great Rd, and from there to Carter Rd, is no picnic; but the first hour is just to warm up, and then the good feeling starts, and there was a huge downhill from Carter Rd into Hopewell, where I rested for a second.

Then I went on to the Sourland Nature Preserve, a few hills I’d climbed and enjoyed a few times, and I hoped to enter the preserve from this trail head off of Greenwood, north of 518, a mile past the Hippie Hall, a tavern, for these north west parts; and I biked down the trailhead, then walked my bike on smaller trails, till I came out unto an unused rd that led to another one, where I saw no cars, and realized the two parts of the preserve were disconnected.

From which I explored about; not without first realizing the spring action to my hand brakes failed to allow the brakes of the rear wheel to spring back to a position that didn’t rub the back wheel. So this cut back on my energy, especially standing up biking up steep hills, for out here to the north west of Princeton were both long descents, ridiculously long, as well as tiresome ascents where you have to break and keep pushing, till it becomes nothing.

My goal soon became to return home as quickly as possible, so I turned and hid the bike by a small river, and hopped across the stones across and then ran up an angle a bank taller than me, and explored up the side of a ridge to see an old farm, then crawled halfway down the side of the ridge and chose between a few oldest and biggest trees to set beside and meditate. And this was good, but soon a storm whipped up, it could be held coming like a Doppler effect, for some time, it was evident a  brief storm was coming, so I hustled down and hopped across the stones across the river, and went towards my bike chained to a tree near the other side of the river, but as the rain pellets came down, I gave up that mission and ducked over through the trees to the other side of the road where I splished down under a smallest of bridges I saw, that kept me out of the rain, only if I crouched.

It was a cement bridge the size of a king size bed, protecting this little tributary into the river. Very squishy mud underneath. I could only crouch through this quick storm, and related to billy goats and trolls.

When the rain began to let up seriously, I got on the bike and continued the journey, aware of the lagging brake, as expeditiously as possible, taking the great rd, a long great rd that divides Princeton like a boundary, viciously, quite a road, and I took it into Princeton, never having biked the whole road at once, though maybe once at 17, though I was 45 and had been around Princeton since 1975.

Now I plan out routes and trips at the  on the computer, the goal being to increase  mileage, and have several trips, in all directions I can run out on. It doesn’t matter which I choose, it matters just doing one.

I don’t know what it is about the high hill people that makes them worse, for their disposition, after the elimination of the Indians, is never up to par, but worse for those high hills.

I expected to lose weight by these calorie-consuming sojourns, but, as evidenced by pasta meals at taverns at midpoints, and my hunger upon returning, that I have had to consume so much for these jaunts, that I am putting on weight.

Apparently the point is to not be lost on vic, as he crouches under a bridge having read of ascetics.

Likewise, while on the first jaunt there was a definite isometric strain upon the chest; whereas to the hillier north west, somehow I  missed that. And needless to say, I have been more tired out since these jaunts. So I am taking to an extra meal of pasta now and then, to fuel these caloric burnings.

The idea is to go in all directions. I have gone South and north west, and the former is flat friendly and easy, while the latter, uphill, hilly, forested, less populated.

To the South in  my first journey, one lost the sense of Princeton swiftly for the similar trees and skies of West Windsor and Hamilton. But to the north and west, the stifling influence of Princeton was felt for many many miles, so dominant is the spell of the town in that direction, towards the wealthier parts of Hunterton County perhaps.

Now though my bike, which cost 600 and change a few years ago, is an Italian Bianca, is at the bike shop. Try as we could, the brake handle on the handle bar would not go back into what it is squeezed out of. As a healthy body, and a healthy mind, is all we want…..The bike has handle bars pivoted up, not down that duck into the downhill wind, has no front shocks that bounce along dirt evenly, its wheels are thin, but not the thinnest, its seat not the thinnest or hardest either, nor is it the lightest, and it might need to be lubed a bit; I just had some spokes straighten out a wheel last winter.

There is a biking culture in Princeton. One of the things about living in town rather than nearby suburb, is you run into far more old friends in town than on a suburban street. And they tend to get around on bicycles. There are also hard core bikers who I must practice alone and grow comfortable myself, before chasing down their hilly jaunts. I met one guy, to whom I’d have to have gone twice as far through the hills just to start the bike club biking. There’s no way I am up to biking with that element now. Besides I like to go at my own pace. I usually stop at a park along the way; for which I remind everyone about lyme ticks. They are very out there. Deet, is against them. Lyme ticks have a white dot at the center of their shoulders. You can feel them, and if you mysteriously become sick, it may be one has bitten into you. If you touch them with a just burned match, so their leg-fangs recoil and are more easily twisted out, within 18 hours I believe, you should be OK. Lyme disease today is a life long situation that may recur. Its symptoms include a bulls eye pattern bruise with alternating darkish and reddish rings around the bite.

There was pain to work through. My right lower leg was sore. 5-10 times I caught myself saying the mantra, “This is pain that must be worked through”; However it was more a harbinger of a busted brake: And the art of augury.

However the bike shopped replaced a corroded cable for 23 dollars.


Every so often i have to look at mapquest to review potential routes. Then I have to pick which route or direction. And it starts to look a little like a swastika, my traveling like a windmill so. A nice thing, is that days away from biking, I’m not hungry. Also I’m starting to need to complement biking with other behavior.

And I am worried about the motorbikers. You know, they tend to dress scary looking…..


bike ride 3

I biked to Trenton which is on the way to Philly about 10-15 miles from here. I thought about biking to the train then taking the bike to Trenton on the train and biking around and back, but in the end decided it was way more fun to bike to Trenton; Like in Holland. The Dutch have a law, every road must have a bike path near it, so you can bike everywhere, and they have one speed bikes, like from decades ago, and you drink Heineken, smoke joints and bike from hostel to hostel; if you get tired of biking, you stop at a town with a train station and take the bike on the train to the town you se

I biked to Trenton one morning, a bit to the southwest towards ek.

Dutch is a very hard language to master, not like Italian, and not like French, despite le contraire; Like Welsh and other northern languages it is chock full on consonants; or in Dutch, “wleberchnien“. So I am not saying I understand Dutch at all; But when I was on the train in Holland, and I took commuter rails several times, no one came to take tickets. Very soon I felt foolish just buying a ticket, and ceased to do so. No conductors ever came. The railroads are very popular with the good young Dutch society. So when I consider whether to bike an errand or not, I always think how the Dutch bike everywhere they can.

The first thing you see about Trenton, in the poorer blocks, is an overly conspicuous couple of a white women, tending but not necessarily to be overweight and or gnarly looking; and a generally underfed black fellow struggling as ably as can along; sometimes with a baby or stroller, other times near the court system; but the point is, it is possible to come across this archetypal couple 3 times and still not have seen one minority couple of same race. Not that I am putting any pressure on blacks to couple; for I think we all know what a burden girls can still be; It’s just that I lived in Newark 4 months Oct-Feb this fall; and I did not see one mixed couple the whole time involving the descendants of Africa: And on a side note, I was socializing with this old black poet from the sixties who hangs out in central park, Leaf, he calls himself; Dark Mark in the Park introduced me to him, and of course I definitely had met Leaf, but not in over ten years, I’m pretty sure; And pretty soon Leaf gets to a talking and can’t stop, but not before there is a bit of harmony of conversation and Leaf assumes this attitude regarding blacks and whites, and I go, “Hey, my ancestors were black too.” And that just had everyone in stitches a while.

But to return to my point; The blacks in Newark did not stray because the black neighborhoods were strictly almost all black. Like I certainly was the only white guy on the block in two of the neighborhoods I lived in. And let me tell you, they looked out for me, a time or two I left my pick-up unlocked, and it was always there, though I’d curse for it; and I really tried to convince them the economy did not make sense, it really doesn’t make sense; therefore it is an illusion; get between the dualism, look wholesome for tourism.

For some reason there was some spirit to Newark, there really was; probably because it appealed or was promoted to tourists and because it seems the people try and there is a psychic structure to support them. Tourism is very important; because tourists want only good things to happen to your town. However, another thing I learned in Newark, was that things change; people do have spirit, people do rally, what is trash on the street yesterday is clean sidewalk today; people can hang out and just talk by liquor stores; and for whatever karma, I realized, as I was biking out of Trenton, and I really biked around Trenton’s South Side; was that blacks like biking; and I passed or was passed by old geezers whistling by on old humble touring bikes, with dignity and grace; and younger smaller blacks, doing the two on a bike cruising real fast down the street trick; which they actually do in Holland commonly, not only does everyone young bike, but there are frequently 2, even 3 on a bike at once. There is an appealing grace to the people on bicycle, slightly reminiscent of their grace on boats in the water. Bikes and boats, that’s what I would give urban areas.

Trenton also has a bar that opens at 6am; these bars appear to be what drive-in movies were. I’ve also passed 2 bars in Trenton that have the same name as two bars in Princeton. The Ivy, and Conte’s. What’s up with that? You have to be a little bit careful biking in Trenton. I did see a suspected crack dealer or two, and you don’t want those people stealing your bike in payment for exploiting their steriotypes. Really, do not buy crack from black people on the street. However I did yell and ask them where a certain street was and they gave me better directions than other blacks. They probably weren’t dealing. Point is cocaine is an actual natural mild intoxicant, historically used to deal with the stresses of what constitutes modern life.

Maybe the business of state politics has the karma. Trenton High School is beautiful.

I ended up by the Princeton towpath by lake Carnegie, lying on my backpack  munching on things from the polish deli looking beyond the sky and realizing the universe sees itself, its parts view its parts, and that is reality.

I was talking to Dark Mark in the Park, about how the real hero of Huck Finn was Jim, and it is probably the ultimate role for a black actor; and somehow we’ve got to convince our friend Jeff Wright to do a movie about that. However, there is that painfully tragic feud with 14 year boys being killed, that is probably too painful for a movie ever to be made about Huck Finn. Which is why we talked about how to change that scene, because Jim, in that scene is actually taken care of by what seems to be black slaves with a degree of unity, and freedom thereof, precipitated by how likeable and respected Jim is to them, as being true to his integrity.

The economy really doesn’t make sense. It’s just to whites, more groomed into something that doesn’t make sense, that is less an issue, but it can be bewildering, the economy, to those who don’t understand how it all makes sense. Of course in the old days, the city was said to have that sophisticated understanding; but today you have to act like you have a job, and if you can’t act, at least go and get along enough.

Another thing blacks and whites go through but differently, is that when you have a kid, that changes everything, your self-conception, your cool, even, what you can do, what is appropiate given that responsibility. If the world makes little sense in those years after school, it may make less sense later or around then, if you have a kid.


Bike Ride 4 northeast to the buddha

My next bit of biking exercise, (and let me interject here, that while the Dutch are known for pot, Heineken, and biking, biking is generally regarded as such a high that Heinekens should generally be used at most to celebrate at the end of a ride, and that pot is not necessary biking because biking is such a high,) involved going north east of Princeton along Rt 27.
For those of you who don’t know, Princeton is midway between Philadelphia and New York City; yet those who are Philadelphia, rarely venture to NYC, finding it intimidating; whereas those such as myself, who are New York City, find Philadelphia less familiar and therefore less compelling. And the Philadelphia people are nicer and jollier, but less funny and angular and caustic than the New York City people.
I-95, which runs from Maine to Florida, is called The Turnpike in N.J., because it collects a toll, and many people from the over 40 states that have no toll highways, are often amazed. Route 1 runs parallel to I-95 all along the eastern seaboard, and around here, parallel to Route 1 runs Route 27 that constitutes the main street of Princeton, and takes you all the way down to New Brunswick which is 3 miles from where I grew up.
If you go along route 27, past Kingston, towards Kendall Park, you pass a Hindu temple on the right , and a little letter, a house, with flags around, and in the back a giant white Buddha, for whose spirit you pray to arrive and help you. There is a asianly landscaped and decorated with flags, tile patio, and sand lawn, with appropriate meditative style. For it is so calm you can see the mind above your brain drift about slowly now and then.
The idea is to bike all the way to New Brunswick, which has really been rejuvenated from the seventies and eighties, and has quite a bit of energy and people around now; as Rutgers, which is there in the thick of it, is much more appealing to students as New Brunswick now is much more appealing to students and younger adults.
But this was just a practice run, I ended at a friends place sharing a house whose land includes over a hundred egg laying hens and rooster, and there is a little sizeable field that’s been used agriculturally, and other smaller places for tilling as well, and this could be a place to use my roto-tiller in an agrarian endeavor, as well as possibly store it, as the house it is stored at now, may be sold soon.
This year, was the first year I learned of Dominicans. There are Dominicans and Puerto Ricans, and while we have usually heard of Peurto Ricans, Dominicans are a little more in the background, group like, restaurant oriented, and orthodox in general. For instance my friend and I discussed certifiable topics, such as the proper way to treat passing, as I was an acquaintance of a late friend of his who passed away.
I also took this as an opportunity to review the Caribbean States: Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, Cuba, and then the two black ones, Haiti, and Jamaica. And then there are several or many clusters of very small islands, like the Bahamas and other ones. But we never learn that in school, and it is not nearly as simple as 50 American States.
I like to explain the difference between Dominicans and Puerto Ricans as this. Michele Bachman is like the Dominican, Sarah Palin is like the Puerto Rican. Michele is like in a pack or group of tea party people, sort of in the background, whereas Sarah stands out. Michele is obviously a better cook, but Sarah probably is more fun to be around, a little wilder maybe. Michele is very orthodox and orderly in her approach, Sarah is a little wild, innovative and spirited. A lot of people seem close to Michele, whereas Sarah’s followers are motivated by her, but not close. She is less the establishment and more the individual. Like generally speaking, in a broad bigoted generalizing way, Puerto Rican girls are a little more tuned into their looks, and probably more dramatic too.
Then biking back I stopped at the Buddhist outdoor meditation place. I had not been here since last September, when I was here at least twice, it was so peaceful, and my mother had suffered such an accident.
In any event, holding my eyes and mind, unable to raise them to see fully the two story white Buddha, I prayed for my troubles to resolve themselves, for my heart is heavy with woe. Cream does not rise to the top; it either has to be allowed to, or it has to prove itself; and that is what I rapidly felt, that nothing comes easily, nothing is given, goods must be obtained, because the universe is weighted against earths.
And righting the ship, and generating what’s due, in an across the board way, requires God, a higher power. For the eyes to confess, the half-man half-god eyes of individuals to confess, those eyes must be near God, and those eyes must feel higher power near them, for then confessions are reasonable, forward-looking and constructive, and less urgent and dramatic, but reasonable and of reason and serious. People that are atheists, don’t confess so well, all this pressure from a perceived uncaring world, stultifies the faith confession requires. Yet what puzzles me, is I glance around and see the world and humanity in many people about me, and instantly I feel a sympathy that takes me to godliness. So how is it Atheists don’t gaze upon the world and give in to God, and their hatred, over, because the world is obviously suffering, with each person in it; the world is no picnic, so why get constricted from faith; it’s too hard to take seriously. People seek reasonableness, why do atheists not view people and realize God? Are they too in competition with others? Is Atheism so dysfunctional zing that they fail to gaze beyond it to the images of today?
Because by the Buddha, I could see my heart lit up in nature, beyond the trees to the woods surrounded the backyard, like little wires of blood, formed for atheism; for the very lie of man is grounded in Atheism, and it all comes from the assertion than man is like Christ, when Christ is really substantively greater than man. So how does this misperception of man come about? But in the heart itself the mind exacts its false statement of something not true, in the form of that man, being like Christ; and he is not like Christ, that much at all. But that is the lie and the appearance, and it is designed to fool the Christ and Christian into thinking something is, which is not, and it goes through the heart, and is what atheism is, being overwhelmed by lie, ignorant of truth.
Reason comes to the guilty, whose atheism causes the false acts, as they realize, of free will, they could not have done what they did; it’s not logical, or desirable; They have to realize a higher power controlled them, through atheism, to do what they did. And when they realize things are controlled, they realize God and reasonable; so confession is predicated upon an awareness that wrongs are not easily willed, and that the control therein indicative of God, especially as God is responsible, so God is needed to apologize and redemption.
Atheism, Atheism in the heart, as Jimmy Carter once said, causes most of the problems in the world. Society, which is designed for bad things to happen, and complete the contract with the universe, is guided with atheism. And Atheism, I believe, can not deal. Atheism is dysfunctional zing. Atheism is friend depriving. I do not know Atheists who are social and have many friends, nor do I know atheists who apologize and make amends; because if you can do that, you usually have worked through the atheism and are godly. Atheists can be angry, godly people are much less prone to raising voices and anger. Atheists are angry because their ignorance is gnawed at by the natural humanity that wants and deserves to know what is vital to know. And Buddhism knows well the battle against Atheism and Atheisms primordial place in the heart that constructs society. I want to ask you if you think atheists have a conscience? If an atheist has ever apologized to you? Because as I said, “I’m sorry is equal to a knowledge of God”. The absence and relief, the good apology is creates, makes the mind more apparent and dominant.
This bike ride, along one small highway, was fast and straightforward.
As I said before, Atheism, meditating in front of the Buddha, on a large log, with my feet in the sand contouring the tile patio that leads to the statue, I realized Atheism is a statement that says, “I do not know”. It is a statement by the mind, and not true, but said. How do you say something that is not true, and link it so the lie is grounded to the fiber of man? You say something is like me, that is in my heart, that is you. Atheism is a lie in the heart from the mind. It starts with your parents. Your parents are like you. The heaven-mind starts touching the heart, to include all, but some know. Atheism is not about getting along. The brother and sister, may tend to be like you, whereas your social acquaintances are not. The more it is realized one is not like me, but themselves, in apprehension of ideas; that difference generates an autarky and autonomy, essential towards improving as a person, because one can not be, like someone else. That that deceptive form exists, primordially, indicates a whole slew of absent autonomy from the people who most are of the lie of man and acting like Christ without having any of the ideas or apprehensions of Christ. These people are journalists. Journalists seem innately invested with the lie, and false assumption, they are the ones who must separate themselves as lacking sophistication and perception of the kingdom of god, they are the ones who must separate themselves and create a new identity, that is honest, effective and closer to truth, rather than misrepresentation.
In Princeton, The university is planning a major building project for a corner of the town, and a senior housing development approved to be built in Princeton’s remaining woods on a ridge with possible negative environmental effects. I sued the town and state, over five years ago in federal court, costing Princeton tax dollars, saying the state constitutions incorporation of towns with local officials, who approve these projects, violate the first amendments protection of peaceful assembly, peaceful assembly understood as a natural local form of decision-making by all present with ayes and nays, practiced in Princeton into the 1900’s and in New England towns that require quorums of 236 people for a decision to be made. And that this is a quintessional civil rights issue, for privileges and immunities of the constitution are abridged. And yet I do not blame the officials for not making public the tax dollars on this case and merits of the issue—I blame the local papers, the packet and the town topics, for refusing to cover this lawsuit—were there coverage, these proceedings would not be so able to will the way they go at all.
So how do deserving events get coverage, when a free press would, and doesn’t. Can the press imagine itself as distinct enough from me, to see me and this issue as separate enough to have its own life and natural needs. Pressure may be applied on the conventional press through social networks. And journalists must realize, who they are not; in that they are so representative of you, they can not conceive of you. In other words, if they were autonomous, nor you, but seeing you as distinct, they would be more able to cover an obvious story as this, as well as demonstrate the morality the press professes, but rarely shows, and is occluded often.


One similiar thing about New Jersey, and Holland and Belgium, is well, Holland and Belgium have frequent sculpture on corners and squares of their towns and cities, and these make for most interesting things for tourists to see. And it seems N.J. is doing the same thing. Princeton University is dotted with abstract sculpture, and there is a large Sculpture grounds in Hamilton, towards Trenton, from Princeton, which is where I think a lot of the sculptures come from. Even a few homes around Princeton have sculptures in their front yard.

So as I biked 17 miles to my father’s in Yardville, practically on the other side of Trenton, requiring biking through West Windsor, I noticed several abstract sculptures I hadn’t noticed before, and I believe the tourist agency wisely behind it, and tourism good, for tourists want only the best for the places they visit, understanding something is everyone’s in a wise way. I also noticed ocassional brick sidewalks, which look beautiful, in contrast to the cement, or asphalt sidewalks, and I noticed several memorial parks or memorial spaces to veterans in the mercer county I drove through. These memorials are if not an anti-war statement, a necessary recognition of the cost of war; a sentiment N.J. is prone to, as being a small state, small states are not warlike states.

Biking back, one can not help noticing Princeton University’s lands, and the long slight incline into Princeton from the south. Yet higher education masks and not covers the kingdom of god, or even peaceful assembly as a noted form of local decision-making. N.J. has many towns whose council is all democratic, and it is the abridgement of local decision-making, that karmically holds back the party of the people at a state and national level.

Coming back, on a four lane section of road, a car was stopped, and something being engineered, holding back some traffic. I biked by, as the car’s occupant, who was out of the car, I saw the large turtle in the road, probably already run over, but protected by his shell, the large crew-cutted kid was trying to save by getting out of the road. The crew cut was already giving up and popped off my bike to pick up where he left off, a bit like the secondary in football, swooping in. And yelled to him at his car where he had reparked, seeing my interest and not taking off, and he grabbed a football, and tossed it to me, and I nudged and hit the mean large snapping turtle across the road to the honks and cheers of slowly passing motorists, at the end, lifting it by its tail to toss it over the curb, per advice yelled by a passing motorist. In hindsight, we should have tried to get it to nearby memorial park where there are waterways, but it was a nasty unhappy turtle with little sense of the peace I was aiming for for it.

I was going to help my father. My father is a hoarder, and an atheist, too things which go well together. I filled out the application for the Hoarder, cable TV show and looked at the discussion of this new found problematic mental illness, and noticed, whereas A.A. promotes a higher power as necessary to take responsibility for ones misbehavior, Hoarders, to not recognize the inherent atheism to evil, because there is a clear symmettry between the two I note. It is so easy to see or imagine consciousness near your consciousness, quiet and looking and influencing and governed, just like the material world.

On my way there, I had the help of another one of these little known somewhat heroic figures of N.J.. My back tire blew and went flat in a second or two, half way to Yardville. Dejected angry and hot, I wheeled the bike to a fine deli at the corner past the eastern side of Mercer County Community Park, calling my trusty Sanchez for a pick-up. However, upon eating a banana, I came across a very professional biker, known as The Pedaling Professor, who has biked from SanFranscico to Maine, keeping a blog on the travels.


Huck Finn revisited

May 3, 2011


“So you got all dem durn preacha’s a preaching Christ died for you, when its “The Kingdom of God” dat asetsyou free. And he was seen on Easter.”

No, were I to go down the river in a raft and with a minority I would hope the buffoonish negative-American scene Huck witnessed, never be seen.

The skirmishes between the Grangerfords and Shepherdsons,  undilutably sad for Huck, and the hucksters pretending to be nobles, making Huck and Jim wait on them; those are things I never want to see.

And it’s true, things took a turn for the worse right past where the Ohio river joins the Mississippi river, past Illinois, the last free state, with Jim a runaway slave errant; And things are more violent and newsworthy in the South. I experienced the same myself; yet I would rescue people, to spin it in most positive unfair terms; or the old people ran into living in the woods, cool Viet Nam vets. Course I was 30 before I escaped into the curiously politer domain of the south; where everyone was tougher than a city slicker like me.  It is easier to fabricate a more sinister world to a youngster like Huck; for with age comes bonds, and torn veils illuminating enlightenment. It seems everyone’s childhood had oppressions we don’t consider now, ideally. At least the people have this conception. Differentiate between the people and the media production. Huck Finn, the book falls into the latter category and thus prone to the succor, a good hard core tail such as this, requires.  I was always amazed how On the Road starts with Jack stealing his brother in laws car.

Another childhood-adult contrast is how while this was a favorite book growing up I read several times; for the life of me, in this day and age, as I examined it, I did not remember a bit of the actual plot; How it all starts when “Pap”, his abusive father, kidnaps Huck from the widow something, taking him across the mighty Mississippi, where he kept him hid in a cabin; which, aside from tannings, Huck loved and liked much more than going to school. Heck I thought Huck went down the river with Tom and Jim, just a bit part. But Jim is a star in this book. Its just funny how my memory of that book is of a great fun book, without any specific memories of the plot. And if everyone is the kingdom of god, then there is no need for education, at this level. And the skills the mind needs to know to work with me assumed or taught how. I don’t know how to explain the mind to you to make it work. But surely that comes first, before a job or two, industry and time not working. So Pap’s anti-school speech, Huck would have to evade him on the way into school, was quite ironic; as learning can come much swifter outside school.  How foggy was my mind to love the book  without remembering particularities. As Truth is apprehended more, there must be, right?, an increased apprehension of minute details and generally orderly mind capable of apprehending order.

In some ways, my identifying of the plot—-the plot reminds me of Caesar’s plots in his book The Gallic Wars. It’s the same thing, one adventure after another sandwiching days hiding on islands and nights rafting to the Ohio River, but it rains bad that night, and they run into a shipwreck where the crew are bandits or something and at odds with each other; for which Huck and Jim end up with their loot and canoe; fulfilling the mysterious prophecy of Tom Sawyer in the beginning of the book when he swore them all as outlaws and robbers; For Huck runs the raft out with a lot of his fathers stuff, then comes across Jim on the Island he hides out on, having disguised his running away as a murder, for which his father and Jim are prime suspects; because his father is after the fortune he made from the last book, trusted by Judge Thatcher.

The problem is that I am a little like Huck Finn; who isn’t in a world full of lies over their head? So it’s not just the quaint accent, one may pick up reading this book, or the enhancement of walks along all aquatic actuaries; it’s the sense whoa; those people pretending to nobles are very evil, like Pap, and the feud, and the robbers on the shipwreck; even Huck getting Jim sick with a rattlesnake bite on the island isn’t fun but tragic. Thus the comedy radiates out of the tragedy.  The best, even most American or homespun comedy is when it is used to mitigate tragedy.

Missouri by the way, is a superior state; comfortable with reading and writing, and the friendliest bible belt I’ve ever seen. But boy, after snaking away from his father on a raft, there is one episode after another involving some of the nastiest connotations of America I’ve ever seen. A downright resentment shown in the form of a contempt, through description, of the older characters in the book. As if the feud isn’t enough, Huck and Jim, get caught up with swindlers, who high tail out of towns, where there are killings, and stupid people; the most mournful depiction of American life; though this be Arkansas not Missouri, one of the great things about being on the road in America is the great Americans you meet. I had gained a lot of manners seeing the crazy things in the south; but they were good hearted crazy things at bottom; process of reformation.


This story is about generations of childhood and adult; both as readers, and characters. The stuff that goes down along the Mississippi, is not the stuff good southerners, such as my affection, would ever be associated with; even though it be the inner less effective western parts of the south; perhaps Midwestern hued; anyway; I had anger, a poetic anger, as Twain demonstrates, a theatrical anger, towards the cars, or the older generation; as Twain has; and such may be natural in America, if we understand our founders may have sacrificed diversity for homogeneity in the acceptance of a federal government rather than several smaller countries. In that a federal government, for a vast area, is never the first choice; as in this case it was decided on to prevent violence between the states; which is certainly did; save 1860-1865 a whole nother issue. But what was sacrificed was smaller areas paying more attention to themselves, and leading themselves; as well as the whole excitement of having many different countries here; would have been kinder to the Indian, a wonderful complex diplomacy of states, all considered too high and unattainable an ideal. A united defense was definitely behind the federal government.

See, to be sure, there was the great classical civilizations from 800bc – Jesus. Hebrews, The Roman Republic, and Ancient Greece. Each in their own part of the world, each all distinctive and everything. And their histories were easily told, plot-filled narratives. They took their history seriously, had it about things like peoples or ideas or cultural dominance of tribal situations encroached in government forms reminiscent of today’s formation of power. Today’s formation of power owes its life to the American Movement, which led full tilt the transformation from not only a war-ridden Europe, but a stupid war ridden Europe, a medieval epoch without a theme or persuasion but just different people in small areas gaining power and deciding to expand; it was like bad TV. Ergo, America’s History raises the curve, even as expectations, given history’s contrast, needn’t be so high. And yet, as there is no longer a need to provide a check upon state on state conflicts, the federal government could give way to one of the most exciting chapters in History, in a good way too.

Thus America was a pointed break from European History, to an extent Twain resented the encroachment upon states turning to themselves for leadership, that he exponentially manifested a venom upon the older generation. A venom, I as 27, did have; but swiftly got over, in a forced resurging hug with the human race, through a getting along with humanity; in short, for every season, turn turn, a time for venom a time for love. I can not play one part for the problems of the whole. I may find Hamilton and Madison and even Jefferson insidious and cowardly, but this is merely comic touch, I have no real hatred of them because I know there is the kingdom of god, and the show, illusioned quite powerfully, through the inner workings of mind, good meditations seek to unravel.

It is only childhood itself, or that spell, of ignorance, and too many veils, where true hatred venom may erupt. So it is knowledgeable, if not ironic that in a novel about an adolescent, crooking and crawing good naturedly his way through everything, as we all do; would have characterizations of adults and world imbued with a negative tincture. And yet this is not the south I know by a stretch. See the rainbow family of living light, used to and still does, (see there used to be an Alabama regional in Talladega Forest every year, I went to it two years in a row, 94 and 95, and after the first one, hiking through the forest to Tuscaloosa, and then on along country roads to Mississippi. In any event, these regional’s, February ones in Ocala National Forest of Florida, brought me South and kept me South, where there were gators and big trees, out houses, accents and more many more older women with younger men, than vice versa. So I have to object to this sacrifice of humanity, for the face of childhood, even as the code of childhood may dictate.

In any event, America certainly has an easy to follow history, with attempted ideals, and some effort at culture, which because we are not tied into production enough, we lose; Medieval History is much harder to follow.

However European actuality has the following point and remarks, that they have preserved their countryside; while the first sensation garnering you from Twain’s Book, written in the 1870’s about the 1840’s, is the destruction of America’s wildlife and nature is a serious tragedy we all know: So beautiful are the sensations of the Mississippi that waft out of those begotten times.

And this tragedy may be insinuated to several causes. The first is that all the European warfare and battle fields, the blood that went into their soil, compelled a protection of nature, as the destruction of land fought for, for foolish ignorance, if not downright calculated control of society by higher power; could not be so desecrated and unappreciated.

Secondly because European states and kingdoms, duchies and Yorkshires were small, and less governed over a large region but by smaller regions; so the more intimate attention to what matters most for the people. This concern, could have been consistently protected, as the protection of locals making decisions in peaceful assemblies; that is known to protect the destruction of forest and farmland. As well as citable maxims, such as were quoted to me in Britain, such as “Everyone benefits from open land, so there is a “National Trust” ensuring land stays undestroyed” or “People are concentrated in Urban areas to protect the countryside” this wisdom is contradicted by suburbia. For often you can walk from the center of a city, to its edge, straight onto farmland. Then there is something out Asia, “Earth is owned by future generations, not past or current ones.”

A federal government over so vast a land, too easily caved in to evil. Because no one has said, the need to keep the states from warring is long gone; or the very human right for communities to make decisions together. The very quality uniting republican government by voting for representatives, while conflicting with the kingdom of god, though to be controlled by the forces upon history for more and better play than existed with feudalism, has been evilly manipulated to justify local officials and down trod the more logical form of local decisions of ayes and nays in peaceful assembly. Yet you can not blame the local officials insofar as the people have not responded to or initiated their ideas; So if people and media have not responded to these precepts; one can not blame local officials for not responding either.

I also have little doubt the migration over here, jarred tribal and or pagan sensibilities to the degree that few from heaven, who came from America, looked over us; that there is a metaphysical sacrifice of America.

Part of it is in the example of slavery, for we have to ask, regarding Jim’s depiction, is Twain as racist? His portrayal of Jim is fair; and Jim seems to benefit and improve his character through his travels, as I did at his age in my travels. There is also the consistent experience of the most downtrodden having good experiences with other races. And yet does it really make sense? Slavery benefits no one, and would they wish to return to Africa? So easily do we ignore. For this constitutes the personality Twain and classical media has portrayed. As proverbial a complex stereotype as other nationalities. Jim consistently to me became a more and more reliable character as the story goes on; both to Huck and himself; finding himself fine and confident as a runaway slave.

In the beginning, there is reference to Huck’s propensity for sleeping outside instead of in the bedroom provided for him by Widow Thatcher. How that made me long for my old childhood, had I guts and inquisition to sleep outside alone as a youngster; for there is and was a woods right across the street, where we played building forts, out of collected large branches, up against huge old fallen trees, near stark naked trees hit by lightening, eerily distinguished some seasons; and the point is, my wisdom could have come more swiftly had I had that gumption. So I ask everyone to make sure there is no one blocking out the stars, and winds of the universe in their life. Indeed, one hallmark of love seems an increased awareness of earth as a celestial ball, and other planets hovering about. And I have little doubt, depriving Huck of his alcoholic abusive father, enabled his perception of the haunting outdoor nights; Look at how kept by his father a few chapters, he is not able to leave the cabin for days while Pap is away in town or something. It is true and awkward, that in calculating decisions, we are often shown wrong ones.

His highly developed character, friend, Tom, who is well read to boot, is the erudite well read knowledgeable relating sort, whereas Huck is a bit of the out of control alcoholic. The negative characterizations of the older men begins with the Pap, and the liberal judge who only learns of Pap’s true character upon inviting him over for the weekend. There is little malice towards women. They seem forgiven, perhaps having had little to do with the American Revolution. It is humiliating his father slept with the hogs, and even more so, physically abused him. And yet to be able to lie, cheat and steal like Huck, requires an innocence that requires an ignorance, that is very much like the alcoholic being out of control, and yet to himself, Huck approves of his behavior, or at least is kept from analysis of it, which keeps him stuck in his personality mode: because it hard to analyze a survival mentality because over all in general things are so bad that over all in general is the cause of everything, and isolated misbehaviors not the case.

I mean the kid fakes his own death; which would only make him more known, but is sick involves killing a pig, yet a good doctor could know the difference between pig blood and human blood; intimidating enough, for a youngster; nor do they search Jackson Island; How intimidating is it to kill a pig? How romantic is it to take such steps as to not be pursued, though how hard is to figure Huck’d float down the Mississippi? They probably knew it would be a good trip for him. And maybe it’s all a dream and the feud of the gavels and shepherds, merely reminiscent of civilization and the Jews; and the phony royalty, our own convoluted misunderstood break from medieval history, back to a classical age, that never analyzed itself as such, even though clearly, it was. Because people are the kingdom of god, to bear the sacrifice the universe demands far better. This is where we are stuck. The dreams go on in almost Freudian fashion. A badgering drunk at a shore town the swindlers are hooking, gets shot as a heckler to a stern powerful man; symbolizing the death of alcoholism to prurience of homogenized society.

Is it written from a pseudonym nom-de-guerre sort of hippy thing; in that like the rainbows all go by pseudonyms or real names they make up for themselves. For as a writer, the pride of writing means putting your own name on it. Was Clemens so aware of his vitriolic streak that he used an alias. Is the reason for his alias his condemnation of River Life as fraught with immorality? And is this then his writing in the sense of Pushkin and Turgenev et al in czarist Russia, under strict censor guidelines, thus requiring cultural sophistication to make any moral statement; though if Twain is telling the Mississippi to get its moral act together; I dare say more heartwarming account is sought. But the fact of the matter is that professional media and art, in large part is about buying into a history fraught with perils that challenge and plague individuals as society, and the impression upon us of them.

They say the increased population is the point; so more are sacrificed for the universe; for some point; because things can change, as the kingdom of god is bandied around more.

Like I am jealous of Huck’s sleeping outside, and let me tell you, in my older years, when I tried to catch up from oppression, there were years not only when I slept on the ground at Rainbow Gatherings and Hiking Trails, but later on, as learning agricultural trade, that I spent many many nights in humble conditions, and felt great, like I was satiating myself, like it was very healthy….but I digress….I am also jealous of Huck’s hunting or rather animal-murdering skills. While I have briefly raised hundreds of chickens very kindly for processing, While I have knowledge about how to field dress a dear; that is cut a dear into as manageable a form for transporting it back to a vehicle from the woods. While I have had my pet standard poodle retrieve me geese by the wing for me to twist their neck….I have yet to wring the neck, pull the trigger or stuff and pack the boxes for the processing plant; it is one of those things that I know I should do; but something is blocking that experience. Ironically, now I know the truth of Twain’s Huck’s Father known for sleeping with the hogs; My own father was and is, a hoarder; that is a very messy person whose house quickly filled up; and doesn’t deal with it. Obviously the more you shout from the rooftops your problem the more able you are going to deal with your problem. Well, that is the question.

They bump upon in a storm in the night a shipwrecked book of robbers who from whose canoe with stash they get; which along with the stash on the raft from a boat floating downriver with a dead man, makes them fulfill the dream Tom Sawyer had when he swore his cohorts into a band of highwaymen, citing Don Quixote; and like Huck Finn, Don Quixote has such a great concept, and yet a very hard tragic humor as well; the difference being that Twain has an easy going humorous style to him, reminiscent of relaxing with someone in the park; whereas Cervantes really isn’t joking around with Don Quixote whereas Twain relates to Huck and Town and blacks; whereas Cervantes is relating a plot narrative without providing the quality of having experienced himself, the delusions Quixote mistakes for reality. The abrogation’s of experience by literature may pay for an upsurge in the unfocused on people. And yet applying the difficult work, Don Quixote, while revealing the imitating genius to Tom’s intelligence, not only is funny in the difficulty of applying Don Quixote to anything, but also sheds light on my own mimicking streak of genius. What do I mean by this. I mean these ways are revealed not created, and mind clearly has different sets to show me; even as I face straight their creation; and feel their tendons twang in my organs.

But the alcoholic is out of control, Huck is out of control or in an out of control situation he must master. And the true reader, values homespun company. These people are so simple, yet are they all there? And can they hold on as the going gets deeper; for the alcohol seems to lessen as responsibility increases.

The theory is the prey to these perils is the point to society; not improve or anthropologically develop. The racial complexities America has been heir to, are just another ingredient; which is why it is so graceful for any separation from the kingdom of god, by the kingdom of god, towards getting out of problems, or differentiating for reality is quite different from the narrative in books or set about you; even as you understand “you” as the projection of an appearance. Reality is the way earth really is, in the universe, with the mind as such; The false reality must be separated from the real reality and the real reality have its own narrative, whatever it is, of thoughts and experience, even feelings and observations.

The true kindness of Twain upon his swindlers is that as the raft drifts down current, a 12×16 raft I believe, they practice their scenes of Shakespeare; which gets such a poor response, that they shift to shiftier swindling things. So even that is an ironic commentary on the work and preparation of the older generation; that gives way to impromptu manipulating impression.

And at that town the county drunk gets shot for hackling a leading citizen; as if everything bad hasn’t already happened; in that the feud before the fake nobles, was the saddest thing I ever read, a war between families, reminiscent of the patriarchal reigns that dominated Abraham’s times; but very sad to lose family to warfare, especially many; when that sacrifice fulfills the universe. For that is what we talk about; whether media creations, what they bring about, as in does that remain, or lessen or what?

This is very much a novel about children and adults, and read by children and adults; it offers the unique opportunity to be read young, and decades later. So is metaphysics of this metaphor? Can metaphysics grow up? Can there be change in the universe? Does the Mayan Calendar ending next year signify change?  How do we end childhood, by realizing the kingdom of god? By apprehending the kingdom of god. So what is there for the near timeless opaque forms, which I don’t think are so great but miserable and weak; yet the different forms phenomena perceived of the universe to quantify is very important. And yet more, is there really our childhood, or childhood in general, here or in the universe. Isn’t the apprehension of truth inculcated early in truthful society? Isn’t childhood just lies? Can you expect the universe to “grow up” and find love and appreciation? And that change would constitute a change in perception and disposition and is that what growing up is?


Proper protocol, being on the run, is work for people a bit as you go along. And while Huck has plunder from missing canoes, and fish aplenty along the river plus berries and sundry from town from monies; all three of the people he finds along the river; the women he inquires into as to the gossip regarding his disappearance; the wealthy feuding family, and the two con-men—are people who he could work for and have and are employer-like qualities. But of course, such is the ill effect of slavery, why work, if you are traveling with a slave; a class that transcends the boss-labor relationship. The freedom to move is a wonderful freedom. Our freedoms are not enjoyed, because we bow down to a static tradition, and an untruthful one, because we are in a greater metaphysic encompassing the universe. These two did play servants to the Duke and King. I have wondered ironically how much my life may would have been improved had I had servants who had to do whatever I say. Of course the Russian literary take on such is comical, as the servant is always infuriating and the higher, genuinely trying to help.

That being said, as the truth of the kingdom of god awaits, one sees Huck and Myself saying good-bye. So brave of Huck to feign his own murder, and so fallow of me to not say good by myself to my friends I quickly think over. For it seems we must say good bye, to move on, and while the abusive people cause crying that I may never save them, my cool friends know and understand they could never help enough anyway. This is an implicit admission of the kingdom of god and greater reality.

And if Huck is barely in control, perhaps a drunk not alcoholic, then how out of control is the feud and Huck’s friend there Buck, who dies, shooting off the feud, with his young buddy. All of this echoes the good and bad of alcohol. A good time, with a negative portrayal of what would actually seem the worst of America, and quite intimidating, if survival skill building, the alcoholic doesn’t survive though, whereas the adolescent should.

It’s the way we are made; it’s a very calculated impression upon kingdom of god; that’s what a narrator is; but a good narrator tries to show the not true side to everything; tragedy is grounded in the audience seeing the not true, that it is not true being the back drop.

Slavery consistent with classical no medieval politics; Times seemed better with many small states in republican representative upper class government, than medieval politics; but slavery a part; how mellow, how untrue, how easily unshackled through pagan means; indeed how much of the pagan world a flow of sacrifice, sacrificial history, soley that; and the christian world of less or no slavery, an oppressive form for protagnosists capable of being outside history, and in reality, by cultural virtue.

But if a pagan world had no protagnoist and its kingdom of god watched over and engaged within through each tribe having their own representative in heaven; and society historical with war; well, the hard “reality” along the Mississippi according to train, puts a number on people’s back, the way war did; but it is more up to chance; and also more individually pressed; rather than societal and group

So the news I complain about very much in Twain’s world.

These individual and news impressions bend you can feel the bend, the twist into personality from God or Goddess

Many people die, such condition war chance

You see the lie, hucks sees the fraud, nothing you can do about it, paddling around and for authority, authority is all wrong in this world, that’s the thing, in childhood, in adulthood, in the universe. But it bespeaks, what why and How is Huck even doing with these people, and where is Jim, how powerless is he?

Further down south like increased heat bugs and violence, more elaborate con, diabolical ordering around of Huck, who must be quite strong now after all that rowing, more vague crowded society, mob and lynch drunk, now off to steamboat upon hearing story, elaborate fraud.

Arrive at town, see like Huck, swirl of energy, public figures protagonists in town pretending to be related to wealthy recently deceasesd fooling Huck’s love interest; there is love in the south; fact whole south is married, that’s its wimpy side.

He’s playing the funeral, which may be a northern thing;

Almost hard to read, what these charlantans fool stupid people now
AS is feud, alter to slaves

Very suspenseful, first you think all the towns people trickin them, when they short 400 of 6000, put in their money; then you think they are in for it, when some distinguishes them as imposters. You think its curtains; but the girls fall for the wise??? Great suspense at 6000 dollars in kitchen as a servant being asked about England. Or as Huck writes, “The ice was getting mighty thin at times.” because he says the king goes to church with em, and er in the summertime by the sea, but its an inland town the imposter is from. Then after getting by the maiden, Huck forgets his imposter uncle is a pastor. But tragedy reigns, as the younger sister is catching on to Huck, her older sister will have none of it. That though makes Huck guilty so he starts plotting how to turn the tables on the counterfeits.

Totally forgot Huck hides the money in the coffin, that then gets buried.

Cooler slang, “didn’t see no way to chip in and change the tune.”
Selling the niggers, and bad sale theory, but ired own. Separating women outside the town. But,many plot twistsin this extra episode, Huck blames the sold niggers when prosecuted—–eerily like the sopranos. The niggas did it.

The story really gets page turning and readable in this second swindling attempt that ultimately fails, and Huck and Jim escape the false nobles finally on the raft on a stormy night, but somehow the hucksters escape the crowd onto them Huck escaped, and found a canoe and caught up with the raft. Huck says it almost made him cry to see them found im.

It was an incredible tale, with more three dimensional views of the people rather than more stock charactorizations, had me turning page after page, couldn’t stop reading, getting into those plots, with the calculations of charactors, and twists of fate; as well as an author designing words that accurately depict a adolescent though Huck Loves Mary Jane, getting older; depicting Huck. But on the raft with the men, the criminals they tried to escape with. In all the questioning of the charlantans ensued by the real relatives showing up; Huck never betrayed his abusive raft company; a traumatic inability to critically relate; as Twain’s America fails to supply confidence, though the depiction of the people gets kinder, by contrast it’s not. Thus Twains view of America as traumatized, and engaged unhealthily, is consistent with Hucks failure to turn in his crime leaders.

But the criminals, in the raft, suspicious how the money got in the coffin; upon whose discovery they were able to escape; having been led up to the burial to see an identifiable tatoo on the body; were suspicious at each other, and at one another but retiring in hate to their corners, they both drank their bottles, and were tight as thieves again.

Far South have you seen Spanish moss, quite characterizes the southern warm south. Lost all their money, no luck with other hustles, but still on the boat, some good, some bad, so they plot more, probably to sell Jim. Which they do.

The childhood understanding of slavery is incredible. It is an issue Twain grapples with and not afraid to insinuate about. Though a very tight subject, Twain covers it more deeply than any fiction I’ve read. Both Twain Franklin in his autobiography another favorite book from adolescent, well franklin preaches and practices morals in a believable rewarding style; and Twain imbues a similar feel, for in being about yourself, or the young you create that feeling, of morality, though Franklin through promoting good, Twain’s showing of evil makes one yearn for moral reality: Though civilization can’t make that handle as individuals are made what they are; such our creator to blame for everything; and therefore, individuals have to be made, in families and close quarters unsuccessful in any mindful effort or spirit to achieve salvation. Mark Twain might say things like; the lack of salvation in the world means things are really bad, people are really stupid. Or; Or it’s not Jesus was so great, it’s the fallen world was and is so bad.

Increased thoughtfulness to a thoughtful 14 yr old Huck? Him is his conscience, and morality reckoning Jim’s misfortune. Whereas time on a raft, one would hope, would reveal the kingdom of god.–now off to rescue Jim, plotting better been around the hustlers, lying and fooling well, as a child, really churning plot where beginning marked by episodes, Tom, Widow, Pap, Jims island, shipwreck and dead man boat, storm miss ohio, feud, then nonesuch, formulaic, like Don Quihote, adventure after adventure linked on similar premises, but not naturally leading from one thing to another as in these further reaches of the story, where action on its own compels further action; Huck has to get rid of these people, so hard, more than an episode. Now good story, rescue Jim from farm.

Talks about the sense of death, dead all around, true KH, and how mournful it makes you, for the present suffers the future, and past looker outs, if the Indians don’t go through what later generations feel.

Any sense of pa people deciding together with slavery? That classical solution thought of? Indian gods?

Liberalism, stupidity comes from fear from how bad earth is off; scared to admit it so scary; rather than affirm their belief in a reality worse than appearace

Jim-star, marriage, seriously often hurt, sopranos, flagrant side, like world to me bearable by its very flagrancy; flagrancy perceived?

Attitudetowards slaves,real analysis, almost funny (stgima not on whites but blacks for not talking their way out of it, embarrassing) hope they don’t revolt, Jim doted on in small farm prison. Funny attitude as Huck and Tom analyze freeing Jim. Tom’s a downer on the plot now, going in unforeseen ever seen places.

Twain’s perplexed take on slavery wonders how it can be, painful on the intellect and actual economy as it be, since farm living ain’t bad. It doesn’t make sense how Tom can find the Phelp’s farm, who’ve bought Jim, to have a larger house for whites and smaller cabins for blacks; its seems dreamlike; for wouldn’t the blacks merely have to explain to the whites the unreasonableness of the situation; so must blacks feel embarrassed by slavery, as whites to feel guilt? Likewise the impulse for locals to come together in peaceful assembly and make decisions in ayes and nays; quite an honest, human instinct; both current and Twain’s time seem absent of those species considerations. I see how the personality is imposed, but I see no imposition of this natural concern. Twain parodies the constitutional notion of town gatherings making decisions with ayes and nays, as the angry mob, now after this monster, now after these charlatans, coalescing for tomfoolery, not serious politics of society.

Huck hurries along to infiltrate the place without a plan confident in providence to speak well for him. Mind you these hard situations come about precisely as he is a child. Were he an adult, he might have explained and used moral force upon the Phelps. That this exponent is unable to capitalize on the obvious, held back, emphasizes, the impression of society upon each, rather than individuals impressions upon society.

Yet Huck should have no confidence in his tongue, as he revealed he was not from England quite readily, only for the comic turn of events he wasn’t exposed by Mary Jane, in the house of the past town; While his high regard for Mary Jane evidences his growing up into the love stages of adolescent teen-age hood; we have to rule to providence the name Mary Jane is not known slang for marijuana, and all kids like Huck known to like and want to smoke it. I am almost certain marijuana smoking was not a part of the culture back then; and yet here is a slang for it. What’s up with that? Providence?

No one gets local peaceful assembly, were there more reality, people would; however reality is different than the reality that’s projected. This energy, translated into adulthood from childhood ; well what happens? The whole thing seems a fraud as the king and duke of the raft. That includes Slavery. Yet the psychological ripples and attributions to Slavery, must be seen woven within society. The concourse of Twain’s Slaveholders, who are very common not especially rich people either; seems to adopt an attitude of munificence of kindness and charm, a doting, as was said; and at the same time, Jim is imprisoned in a shack with a bed with shackle. Cruelty cum Kindness, as was said.

The only way Huck infiltrates the farm, is because they are expecting Tom Sawyer. Yes Tom Sawyer! In the farther back nine of the book, Tom Sawyer is due at this farm, as cousins; So at this point, for me anyway, the whole expedition becomes a dream or a metaphor; indeed, the feud, the charlatans, the shipwrecked robbers, the rattlesnake, what are the odds of all that, I wonder. These are just too unnatural sheer newsworthy events for one to just run into one by one. Oh I mean I suppose that is possible for an adolscent christ back then to make his way so; but even that would have projected him on a historical papypus. Just the sheer odds of Tom coming out to the farm then and there kills all the natural plotting and wits and deception one figures he’d learn from just by reading this book. That’s like hitting the lottery, don’t know anyone who did. Who can buy something, but can you sell something????

Literature has metaphor, in a world of lies, in literature that got metaphor, something is like something, and that means something; and this meaning has significance. And this is in a literary-historical world. If he goes to a farm to rescue Jim, so far so all makes sense, and the farm is expecting Tom Sawyer, well that’s like a wet dream to someone growing up. It’s a national merger of culture upon adult mind trying to depict childhood, with surprising minerals. But I’m just thinking is this supposed to be in the style of the book as in the comic “Rally Round the Flag boys” mentality, where really it’s wacky enough to have such comic coincidence; or is this ridiculous, or really possible through a wild throw of the dice?

And then, when they are both ensconced in the farm, rather than bust Jim out through ripping a piece of wood part boarding up a window, and hightailing down the river again, Huck, Jim and Tom; Tom’s prescence a part in narrative style to Tom’s literary dominance ordering instead a hold to be dug in underneath through an adjunct Shed, and other elaborate reflections of medieval literature: sneak a rope ladder in through a huge pie; so they never do just bust Jim out, as Tom is all pratter, and Huck unable to change the tune; like Huck waking up to being a literary giant character, in a web off tom sawyer, which made Twain rich, as it did Tom and Huck; a denuoement from the dream to the more boring actuality of place in literary analysis;

But the Phelpers, new owners of Jim dey trying to break in the shack, while being nice to him, were, like the phelps versus snyder, were farmer preachers and believed in salvation here and now, and you need that to farm, to incorporate the real politic of the kingdom of god into agrarian culture; as that was what was lost in the post ww2 transition to a business not production world, really, the farm life is generally whats ahead for the Huck’s and Tom’s of the world back then. The background of finally a good farm, even as they imprison Jim, restores the sleep; the restless dream is winding down into Tom’s prattling, and childish going nowhere antics, in sharp contrast to Huck’s adult businesslike behavior.
Yet tho imprisoned by the Phelps, Jim did them and the whole town, sure to make him well-regarded, telling them about the fake king and noble and their performace, so in the middle of the show, the locals rushed the stage and then tarred and feathered and carried them around jostling on a bar, and they pass Huck, and Huck feels sorry for them, which is curious, because their commumpance was delivered, and they swindled many many people, unless we understand the trauma of the abused, for Huck is abused by the adults, probably the most by these two, and the syndrome of feeling sorry for your oppressors.

This was a real case of the audience becoming the stage. Yet as Huck felt sorry for the king and duke, he refered to them in his mind as king and duke, yet they were merely king and duke to him, not really at all worthy of the titles beyond the imposition on his rowing and following orders, even though he mistakenly rescued them from being chased by a town further down the Mississippi.
How a real a show is life? Certainly this shows the imposition of a greater reality upon a child, that may not be grasped by the more adult, and less believing. And a show must be stopped. For this is a show upon us, for all it is, which to must stop, believe less in, for other things, an elaborate construction is true.
How can you have a preacher, and a slave? It just don’t make no sense. One horrible facet of the Classical age of Antiquity was a subjucation of the agricultural class, as to the Helots of Sparta, or the semi-autonomous farmers outside Rome who hoped their fields never trampled, and provided the republic with corn. Agriculture is healthy and fit and rewarding; maybe the equation of nonfeudal government included a seperation from agriculture; which is undesirable, as medieval times tended to encompass fields and agriculture as vital supply towards the richness of the small noble fiefdom.
Twain grapples with that while Huck would steal Jim out of slavery, Huck has a hard time accepting that a boy well read as Tom, would steal Jim out of Slavery. This is what passes for the analysis of mores then.

Tom’s ability to make busting out Jim more complicated than taking the board out the window, reminds me of an author trying to make a plot more complex; Tom’s ability is grounded in his having read books about freeing prisoners.

When they get in the shack with the nigga feeding Jim, Jim gives them away recognizing them, as children in an adult world, and then Tom convinces the nigga tending Jim that was a witch and nothing happened.
Just saying slavery is embarrassing to blacks and whites. So then rather then bust Jim out and set along the Mississippi, as if this is the lesser of two evils, Tom sets out to dig Jim out, which takes a while, and then even does not lead to an escape. I also really did not remember this part of Huck Finn, Jim being captured, nor how prominent the role of the charlatans were. Tom goes from people a readaholic to a fool; in his fumbling and not freeing Jim.

Huck is traumatized, slavery is traumatic, Jim deals with it, the book tries to deal with the trauma we lie about it, the swindling is a traumatic environment, as the deaths along the river, Huck sees the drunk, Buck and Buck’s cousin, and what turns out to be Pap, dead in the houseboat. That’s 4 deaths in one or two months, to be close to—-which causes the dream like state which segue ways into Tom not doing while appearing to be doing, like a dream, which it is really not, certainly american trauma, Indian spell. Story ends at farm.

Huck has no peers, like me, have to enjoy being alone more and more;;;;or what constitutes alone. The solitude is greater than the madness. Childhood is a different, abused and dirty heart, It’s the crazyness going “arrgh” at you; the influences upon you greater and you are not strong or capable enough to rotate, or remain, identify or remanage. A different heart unaware of salvation and the possibility f more greater realtiy. Childhook lacks the audacity to think of earth, itself the whole planet, who a pin prick on, which is so necessary towards escaping situations and gaining perspective

Tom is too complacent, and lacking action, which while written has a realness that the adolscent play of Tom lacks. Pretend is what kids are
Nation, texas