|The author's writing desk, replete with hovering journal and quill.|
I maintain that we should endeavor to enjoy these while maintaining a balance with the natural world: just because we have this miraculous, lightning-fast telegraph, let us not forget how to settle down with our neighbors and share some ripping yarns over a few beers (especially if someone else is paying: beer, like information, wishes to be free). Yes, we may avail ourselves of the "steel-horse" upon its gleaming rails, but let us not lose the appreciation of a restorative autumn's walk from house to neighbor's house, listening to the birds and watching the musquash scamper across the banks of-...
You know, it occurs to me, I have not seen a single musquash since I've been in this realm. Most peculiar: I had assumed they were hardy and divers enough to survive anywhere. But if there should not be cabbages or lettuce, I suppose the Creator of this realm might also see fit to omit other common creatures, like the musquash or the porcupine (to which I have been, in my eyes, unfavorably compared).
What is the crime in preferring one's own counsel? What is the grievous offense in minding one's own blasted business, I ask you? Yes, it so happens that I retreated from popular society. Is this a fault of mine, a black smear to mar my permanent record? Perhaps one should observe society and reassess whether it requires adhesion or abandonment, that's what I say. What with the corrupt politicians who line their pockets with the hard-earned money of taxpayers, promising to serve their interests and then leaving their constituency in the lurch the instant it becomes lucrative to do so! And then those bovine-headed poltroons, those salt-of-the-earth types who insist upon their lust of money and thirst for their fellow humans' blood, they are so easily gulled by the bloviating rhetoric of these selfsame politicians, that they vote for them time and again into office, even as these politicians enact policy after policy to injure and compromise the households of these rural rubes who supported them! And thus it goes year after year, and these rubes never learn, no matter how oft they are stung by their own poor judgment! They refuse to learn!
|The sun sinks over the bed, but Thoreau's just getting wound up.|
What was I talking about?
I've gotten a little worked up, forgive me. I don't know what to do with myself when I become thrilled with the injustices of civilization. There's no clear remedy, and if that is true then any response is as good as another, yet I am condemned for striking out independently while those fustilugs persist to enact the same old drama. Injustice upon injustice! One day they'll see.
That day, I fear, will not be soon, as long as I'm locked up in this pseudo-realm of madness. That is why I must remain true to my goal, to hone my focus and let nothing deter me in my quest to ... return home.
That sounds stupid when I say it aloud. Have I not finally and wholly escaped that world of woes? Trees grow with rapidity, and I may construct shelters and manses where'er I roam. There is an endless supply of wheat, carrots and potatoes, as much as my stomach can hold. And for companionship, do I not have the wry chicken, the meditative sheep, the porcine cunning and bovine grandness of spirit? And rabbits, they're good for something, surely. They're cute and spry, and I'd be lying if I said they weren't tasty.
One moment, dear journal, I've detected an unusual noise. Let me attend...
Well. This is unexpected: I have company.