What Day Is It?

Not the camel's question, because I don't feel an amusing answer will arrive, but more reflective of the hyper-sensitive rebel child who never liked this holiday and whether my dislike of dry meat and the rest of the starches typically called a feast on this day, or the actual roots of the so-called holiday (does that word really come from "holy day," or is it more from "hole day" as in a hole in the work schedule, a hole in the wheels of progress of the modern madness of industrialization turned corporatism?... whatever), but this day brings out the hard-core curmudgeon, and it has since I was a very little child, instinct before could consciously articulate why I loathed the celebratory meal that completely ignores the fact that it started a duplicitous pretentious horror hidden by most modern historical records, I mean, when it's not American evil, it gets counted, but... and you can't even say it's just a white man's evil (though it mostly is), since many times white people are the victims too, but... the numbers of dead are even broken up so it doesn't seem as bad, but... we don't want to see that colonization was in itself intrinsically genocidal (the guy who said it only coined/defined the word, after all), but... it is there, if you just dig deeper (oh, what a horribly appropriate phrasing, shudder dot dot dot), but... I'm heading to Jackson's house soon, so rather than getting into the deeper personal reasons bend the title, let's accept the nearest distraction.

Hey look, a feather.

Not M'ok?

Narf.