What Matters Most

Saturn V Rocket, Johnson Space Center, Houston, Texas

What matters to you most?

Who is most dear to you in your life?

What makes you at peace more than anything?

FUCK IT. IT DOESN’T MATTER MORE THAN THIS.

NOTHING IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN WHAT I AM GOING TO GOING TO BRING TO YOUR ATTENTION RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.

Life on earth.

4 times before, shit has come from the sky and killed most living things.

To not worry about it because it hasn’t happened in a while

is like a roach comfortable in your cabinet or crossing your floor tile

in front of you because she doesn’t know anyone who’s been stomped,

and yeah they fumigate sometimes and every little roach heart stops,

but it hasn’t happened in so long, things should be fine.

In the meantime, this divine house is so nice and cozy,

and yeah it might behoove to plan in case this rosy situation changes,

an escape route to avoid obliteration to save us,

kill the human so roaches survive, or at least make it move for the sake of roach life,

but… why should we? Let’s just make love, eat, and sleep, life is good, see?!

This planet is a billiard ball, rolling towards whatever might come our way,

 like the 48 tons of space rock that fall from the sky every day,

there are flying asteroids everywhere waiting for us,

most of which we don’t notice until it’s under our noses

Like people in Russia a few years ago that saw a bright blaze

Like a second sun it raced through the sky as they run to the window

Before they could react as they gaze in wonder,

glass breaks in their face from the impact as the wind blowed

The Chelyabinsk meteorite landed in 2013 the day after valentines

and released the energy of an atom bomb but multiplied by 30 times

it had been completely undetected, unsuspected by astronomers

the suns glare blocked cosmic binoculars of this rock heavier than the Eiffel tower.

Much bigger rocks have come several times to end most life with their meteor showers

Any day, a rock like this could land over Manhattan, Lagos or San Antonio

We could be those roaches in your cabinet, say ehh fate happens man, ya know?

Or we could expand demand and the pace of our space program,

We could vote people in power who care to see that humanity

Should last past what could be our last meteor shower,

Encourage our children to look up, and dream of the future,

Of course we have pressing concerns and lessons to learn,

You have to look down to tie your shoelace

So you don’t trip and break your head

But look up cause a paint can misplaced

Off of a fifth floor ledge is fixing to make you dead

When the dinosaurs died from a space rock in Mexico’s Yucatan

But they had a peanut sized brain, and as far as we know, no space program,

What’s our excuse?

The Bathing Family

Illegal gold mines in the Awacachi Nature Reserve, Esmeraldas Province, Ecuador

Cocaine.

We all know what it does to people.

The violent crime by the hooked, the conniving tendencies of those with a habit, and the normal occasional user that is just looking for a good time and doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

A few lines every once and a while couldn’t be that bad, right?

I mean unless you’re addicted, or doing it to keep from feeling bad, it has to be harmless, right?

I mean ain’t nothing with a little cocaine am I right?

Well, no, no and no.

It doesn’t just appear out of nowhere. Let me tell you a story.

In the early 1500s, a cargo ship on its way to Peru was packed with human beings who thought they would be cursed into a lifetime of forced servitude but found themselves escaping a shipwreck off the coast of what would become the border of Ecuador and Colombia. They swam to shore, established communities in rainforests, beaches and mountains, intermarried with the natives and later provided refuge for others who escaped slavery near and far. To this day you go there and in many towns there are no Hispanic or mixed looking people, just dark black people, who find themselves historically exploited like black people everywhere on earth, but some in addition are literally poisoned every day through the profits of cocaine.  

I was blessed with the opportunity to work there during my time as a geographer in Ecuador for 2 and a half years, my third day there, I got in a small airplane with a team to map in high resolution the last tropical rainforest that connects the Andes mountains to the Pacific, an area filled with pristine waterfalls that glisten as a prism for sunlight, with an anarchist choir of endangered birds each song stranger than the last, all strutting their outlandish feather outfits for a mate to earn that sex that everyone deserves. Then there are the practically extinct insect dependent plants and flowers each of which could be a cure for cancer, their pollinators feeding the reptiles, amphibians and mammals reliant on wildlife corridors, ecological fauna highways from the mountaintops to the mangrove wetlands for which we had been contracted to make aerial photography. The Awacachi reserve is so important that the Ecuadorian government has deemed it illegal to enter without permission and only under strict regulations to protect nature’s fragility, but cocaine funded paramilitaries had smuggled in bulldozers to make illegal gold mines, with lakes filled with neurotoxic mercury to separate the soil from that yellow metal that people like for some reason.

Months later after the monotony of tetrising a puzzle of thousands of aerial photos, I returned to the area to collect GPS points to align our mosaic to the ground. After passing trucks full of diced trees to finally reach a more desolate clearing on a bridge, we waited for the geographical data to collect and couldn’t help but notice a beautiful scene. A naked Afro-Ecuadorian family bathing in a creek, the chiseled father whose machete and fishing nets are normally an extension of himself was contently soaping his obsidian child, while others hop around chasing each other splashing water, the potential beauty queen mother whose figure was not phased in the slightest by years of breast feeding, they smiled and waved, I smiled and waved back, before turning away to respect their privacy but wanting stay to take the moment in. Maybe, they saw me and my co-worker and envied our luxuries, absolutely, I saw them and envied theirs.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but that same beautiful family that I waved to, who may have distant west African descended relatives you know, were having their brain cells deadened by the heavy metals dumped in that very creek, and in the clams they eat that will be filtering those heavy metals out of river bottoms for decades to come, made possible because of money from cocaine. Maybe a better reason to not do this drug is its funding of a civil war in Colombia where villagers are massacred, children are kidnapped into sexual slavery, child soldiers kill innocent people for the FARC, and family members of businesses are murdered one by one until extorted rent is paid. Or maybe a better reason is the thousands of unaccompanied minors escaping drug gang violence in Central America, the bodies dumped over borders for not complying with demands of drug cartels, or communities crippled by a brutally oppressive mafia power structure that couldn’t exist without money coming from the north. Or maybe better reasons are the cartel wars a few hours south of San Antonio, journalists tortured and killed for exposing the truth or the intricately intertwined sexual slavery taking place in the neighborhoods of every major city.

There are endless reasons not to do cocaine, to not douse the dopamine of one's brain in the blood of all the innocent people killed along the way, in the screams of starving children locked in closets and forced to please soulless men, or in the gunshots that families pray will end. But for me the biggest reason will always that family that waved and smiled to me, sparkling in the tropical sun, enjoying a lazy Sunday in a creek contaminated by Mercury.

So the next time someone is giddy with misguided evil joy at the expense of others they forced to suffer and they offer you a bump, or a line or sack, please have a heart.

Roughneck Life

Obsessing over the color of my piss for the sake of my life,

heat exhaustion is real and people die out here on the oil field,

all the time. 

Death from dehydration is still not my most urgent concern, this 4 ton swinging pipe is.

My bosses preach safety, but everyone knows their 7 figures are more important than my life is.

Hydrogen Sulfide gas seeps out of the ground and can kill you instantly.

I'm trying not to think about this company's semi annual fatality.

There's caustic that can burn your skin off, 

everything covered in ice and heights that you can slip off,

some asshat not paying attention when lives are on the line,

a co worker throwing chains who's fucked up on meth all the time,

I live an hour and a half away and need to get behind the wheel after busting my ass on a 16 hour shift,

I have to pay alimony out the ass because my ex wife doesn't want to work for shit,

My wife and kids are in another state and theres a good chance she's with a side guy,

I can't remember the last time I wasn't sleep deprived,

My leg is fucked up but I can't afford to miss hours,

I hope this rope holds if I fall off this 90 foot derrick tower,

The blow out preventer could fail and this whole rig could explode,

I think inspectors have been paid off to ignore safety codes,

I see dudes without fingers and wonder if that will be me, 

but I prefer adrenaline to that thought thats repeating... 

I miss my family. 

They say God will redeem you from the hell you carry inside,

and that's true for my mind, soul, hope and afterlife.

But while deep thoughts are nice, I have to focus on my problems in this world,

and if you're a felon, with bills, debts and child support,

there's no place else to escape that hell,

that pays this good without risking jail.

In this life, the oil field is redemption. 

Where else can you come out of prison with no skills, bad english with teeth disfigured,

get hired on the spot and make six figures.

If you're against fracking, oil and gas, 

you're against the only hope that I have.

There are millions out there who are just like me,

we have nothing else, there is no plan B.

To think of climate change but no other jobs for us out there,

would be like holding your breath and thinking about Plato instead of air.

Give us an alternative or shut the fuck up. 

When given a chance we always buck up.

For now we provide you with a product you need, 

for food, stuff on shelves, to get to point B.

You depend on us so give some respect.

We're a special breed, we are the roughnecks