American Chicken Shit Corn Smut

Corn Smut...now there is a nuanced and serendipitously generated piece of American reality. The above picture came from a newfangled hybrid corn that happens to be purple, and sold at Lowes, that I grew a foot away from the roost that holds fifteen chicken asses...that's in my permaculture trailer park haven...next to the trailer park hugelmeadow that I hockity pockity wocked into existence...to hear my wife tell it. So the corn smut, that our government apparently spent "time and money trying to eradicate," that the Mexican culture has embraced due to edibility, dubbed huitlacoche,which means something along the lines of "sleeping Raven's excrement" (by my reading of wiki's entry on the topic). How perfect is that for a symbol to attach to the idea that America is a terminal, end stage, cancerous growth on homo sapien culture? The melting pot of culture brewed into a homogenous retardation of all that is good about our species. Corn smut...it's a corn tumor that enters the ovary of the plant and becomes the seed kernel itself, it's a fungus that sends out conjugation tubes to form hypha which parasitize the corn flesh. The corn kernel becomes corn smut.

I know that this corn smut is ripe with symbolism about what has happened to our culture. Our anti-culture as I like to call it. Interestingly enough, today I read about the Roma (gypsy) culture while reading Orlov's latest on the five stages of collapse. They live on the margins of any society, parasitizing the Gadjo (non-gypsy) culture, and they represent the best human cultural adaptation to the future we are rapidly approaching. According to Dmitry Orlov, they stand the best chance of surviving the collapsed end of this cancerous, Golden Rule smut ramification of, industrially consumptive, fossil fuel powered, cultural retardation. That is to say that the gypsy way will most probably survive the end of industrial civilization.

There is much about Roma culture that I find to be extremely fascinating. They are petty thieves who persist on tricking polite society into unwittingly supplying them with what they need to thrive. I guess they are similar to corn smut. They are also similar to the mythical trickster fox whom just takes what he needs from you via his trickery and then disappears. They hide in plain sight by hiding who they are, and they are generally considered a nuisance to those whom control the digibit levers. Sometimes it's easier to simply deal with them by banishment, and some governments have done so. I want to join the Roma culture, but seeing as how the only way to do so is to marry in, and I'm already married, there will be no gypsy made of me. However, my wife's avatar is "Gypsy Mama," (over at the Doomstead Diner) and she is so gypsy like that I'm convinced she is in fact unknowingly gypsy by family lineage.

Let me give you an example of what I mean by employing my favorite medium of literary conveyance called anecdote. Today my wife rounded up a bunch of consumer shit that we've managed to come into possession of. We've come to possess all of this, mostly plastic, Chinese made, stupid shit via the usual American avenues of mindless consumption. That mindless consumption happens without our participation, and ends up being given to us due to socially mandated empty rituals like baby showers, Christmas, birthdays, and whatever other reason us Americans have to go practice consumer therapy in the box store refrigerator habitats that house humans too fat to walk. They ride motorized consumer scooters while shopping for their fat inducing coma ridden soma high petroleum corn sugared treats. So now that I'm done explaining the nature of the stupid plastic shit that my wife rounded up today, let me proceed with the promise of anecdote in the next paragraph.

Today my wife returned consumer items to retail stores for store credit. Things like the safety knobs we've had on our gas oven that keep our toddler from burning the house down. She tried to return a dumb ass talking potty (that my son pinched a loaf in a time or two...and maybe pissed in a few hundred times...we didn't like the song the toilet sang was why we returned it...in perfect Gadjoesqueness)  but the new brainwashed employee refused refund, siting sanitation, (which I can't argue with...but Wendy figures she'll take it back again next time and hopefully the next proletariat dumb ass will acquiesce). I mean, let's forget about the damage that said talking toilet could have potentially done to my son had I not removed the batteries within days of the toilet being brought to defecating digital madness. There it is again...defecation...sleeping Raven excrement...tied to American anti-culture. What type of culture thinks that talking toilets that congratulate your water head toddler on his stinkin' MacDonald's fried shit is a good idea? Ethical even? WTF? We need plastic potties manufactured on the backs of starving third world children? And my wife and I are supposed to feel badly about returning this stupid plastic shit for organic baby formula to feed our exceptional newborn?

See, I do feel badly about it when I'm with my wife as she runs these legal scams (there are many corporate store policies that include no question asked, no receipt, returns). The reasons I feel badly about the returns are due to unconscious scripts that the anti-culture I've been brought up in have programmed into me. Logically I get why I should not feel guilty about it, but I still do. I especially hate the looks and sounds that are directed at you from the consumer zombies who are stuck in line behind you. My wife on the other hand just feeds her baby while in line, and says things to those behind her like "sometimes you just gotta feed your baby while you return shit." She's unaffected by the social program that says she's being a dishonest citizen of this FSoA (failed states of America). Today, she brought that senseless planned obsolescence back to the corporate monster that's destroyed anything resembling a descent American culture, and she bought about three months of formula with it (don't worry, she's breast feeding, but Tribann requires a LOT of calories to grow his physical form, and if he doesn't get them than stress erupts all over the place via forms like torturous eczema on my wife's hands).

This is one of the ways we use to generate money, or the digibit credits to acquire what our family needs. We subsist on the margins of society, in a gray area, living comfortably by taking advantage of the stupid and mindless cultural taboos embraced by our consumer cult of progress anti-culture. Government grants for college, medicaid for healthcare (except for me that is...Uncle Sam will excise a chunk of my vas deferens so I can't procreate any longer...but if I got a toothache, or a broke arm, I can go fuck myself), and a life paid for by the shadow of American waste. I'm a professional student these days. Learning how to work for the Ministry of Health. Well...learning is probably the wrong word...more like learning how to take tests (which Orlov points out in his latest book). I can take a test like a motherfucker...and on short notice.

Our just in time bull shit is about to be out of time. The writing is all over the god damned wall. Just look around outside. Look at the people you know who are a pussy hair away from economic non-person status, bankruptcy, and Limarita fueled, fermented, piss smelling destitution. I've got kids trying to thrive in this shit! Filled with hundreds of cancer causing chemicals en utero, usurping our women's ovaries to become tumor like growth on the maize that supplies the feedstock for something like 70% of our human bodies on the molecular level...according to a stat I read in one of Michael Pollan's books. We are the corn people. Warning, Big Lebowski Turrets dead ahead.

"I've got some corn, I've got some corn so big I can't even sit down...but you know me...I can't complain."

"Fuckin' A, I've got some corn smut man."

Indeed dude, I've got some corn smut. It grew on a newfangled, probably genetically modified, Ruby Queen corn stalk just next to 15 shittin' chicken asses in my back yard. Apparently corn smut has similar characteristics to ergot, which is associated with LSD. I don't know...I love and cherish Mexican food and Mexican culture. Mexicans eat corn smut, or huitlacoche, and they do that because it's edible, and the world doesn't care about our guts. It's practical, common sense even, and I get it. 

So now that I'm done pitching my two cents into the TEOTWAWKI blogosphere I'm off to eat some huitlacoche...here's to it's LSD like qualities. And here's to a new breed of post-petroleum people's who will most probably be gypsy like, and may be found hiding in a mythical place called the Foxstead...one day. Or maybe I'll take my wife and sons and join my uncles in SoCal, where I was hatched; who have plans to retire from the American hologram and take part in the growing sea gypsy movement. Apparently the apple don't fall far from the genetic tree. I've got a sail boat going uncle, and I may buy a sail boat with my Ministry of Health money, and join him. Polar bears are floating on chunks of ice in the arctic, and sea level is rising. What better way to adapt than a gypsy sea culture subsisting on gorilla grown food? If I end up buying a sail boat...Ima name it the Gypsy Corn Smut.  I think the future is going to be something resembling Waterworld...only it's fruition is maybe 50 to 100 years from now.