Little Bang Theory

Hank 2011. January 10, 2012

While out “hunting” today I chanced upon Balanced Rock in Pittsfield State Forest.  It’s a large (20′) glacial erratic, a chunk of limestone perched delicately on a small point, its inverted pyramidal mass hovering incongruously above the ferns and the moss of the surrounding woodland scene.

What seemed more incongruous, though, was the surface of this once-white wonder:

I could almost see John Muir crying and Jackson Pollock furrowing his brow at the lack of intention displayed by the Blotto Spawn of Pittsfield’s Poor.

I’ve long since let go of my expectations that people will behave as though they respect the world which gives them a life filled with beauty and possibilities.  The fact is, it doesn’t.  Many of these kids watched their Dad die from the cancer he contracted building transformers for General Electric, their Mom smoke and drink herself into a crippled stupor, and both of their jobs get shipped to Malaysia when the EPA cracked down on that mess.

If I was looking forward to a lifetime of filthy streets and flipping burgers for pennies, I might be inclined to piss on the world, too.

“Hank 2011” is one of the small number of people who raised their voices to here say “I EXIST,” without stepping on the faces of those who came before him.  Perhaps Hank stands a chance of making it out of here alive.

Good luck, Hank.  I’m rooting for you.