Kenneth has a taste for abstract/prose poetry as well as the comical side of life. 23-years of writing for a newspaper has served him well.
Warning: if you like soft, cushy views of those dangerous influences said to be living in and around us, I politely and respectfully ask you to seek another hub where your need to see and read about cute bunnies and butterflies will be fulfilled. This is a truthful thesis on how "The Green Pig," started when mankind began to gain knowledge of trade and security which can easily be construed as "the soft lie." Read carefully, methodically and take time to absorb this important piece. Thank you, Kenneth.
Who or What can Truthfully say
where and how wealth and the securing of this illusive-but-respected form of power had its birth? I hope that one day before mankind either burns or becomes a huge vapor of our own devices, some honest-to-God simpleton with nothing to gain, will announce a calculated, "Eureka!" And with that one exclamation, "we" as a civil society will slow a bit to at least listen to what this obscure fellow has to say and to inspect what he holds in his soiled hands.
"Soiled hands? Wy' that beaten-down young man doesn't appear to be a soft-spoken, jovial banker. Why is this young man with, gasp, soiled hands signalling for us to stop? Hurry! We need answers. We have important places on the rusty treadmill, my kind sir. What? Oh, you our manufactured sympathies. But "we" have work to do, skyscrapers to build and fortunes to make. Our nation depends on us you know."
"Just look, "Margie," that young man with soiled hands is still standing there. He's a persistent soul. I give him that. Hey, I got a few minutes before my bus arrives, I think I will sidle up to him and just glance at that thing he's holding in his soiled hands. No harm, that I can see."
(Trapse . . .trapse . . .trapse. Sidle . . .sidle . . .sidle). "Hmmm, say, my young man, care to tell me what you are holding? Now mind you, I have a bus to catch and a job to see to for as you can see by my cold, heartless wardrobe, I am a man of means."
"Oh, you are mute. Sorry, old chap. I did not know that from standing over there. I do apologize." "Oh, now why are you . . .pointing at the black box? Me? Look inside the box? Is that what you want?"
(Clearing his throat. Quickly scanning his surroundings to see if "Margie" is watching him).
"Oh, my! Hey, that's a photo, no, a black and white film of ME!" "I say, young man with soiled hands, what on earth, pray tell, are you doing with that film of ME? Of all the people in this guarded housing complex, you had to choose ME! I am outraged. I will sue you and the factory-built marinette courts will take my side you see for compared to you and how we both are dressed, the blind justices will easily resolve that "I" am the truthful one for I am a disciple of my savior, "The Green Pig." "Oh, ha, ha. I must apologize. You cannot see the "Green Pig" mark on my upper right thigh."
"Sir, I do not mean harm. I came here from nowhere. I'll return soon to nowhere. "I" was headed down a bloody trail ten years to my name and without warning, I think, now do not hold me to this, sir, but I think, that I died." "Corpses do not speak, sir. So the voice you are hearing while you gaze into my empty eye sockets is from "The Seer," that invisible entity who walks with humanity with noble hearts, but only for twelve years. Then he removes his icy hands from their souls. Sadly, sir, I was one of these ignorant sheep who was lured so easily by "The Green Pig Disease," which we of the "fallen failures in the sand," call him."
(Like precision clockwork, the man's left arm shoots into the air exposing a now-antique Rolex watch). "Gail! Heyyyy, Gail!" "I need to go, uhh, uhh, gasp, my wife's calling . . .and . . ."
(Wink . . .wink . . .bow at the waist). "Sure, sir. You were never kept here by me or "Seer." "You go and see your female counterpart. I shall wallow back to where the mud meets the river's wide mouth." "But take this black box of the film of you in your "Innocent Days" to remind you of the "Reaper's" sickle that is just around three bends ahead." "And sir, do, I beg of you, sit down somewhere dark and quiet, and watch the film. Just watch the film."
(Crack . . .crack . . .crack. Sound of two-hundred-dollar Florshiem's on the sidewalk). "Margie! Oh, Margie! Tell "David" that I called you, uhhh, and was sick and cannot be at the *mill until the morning. Thanks, "Marg!"
(Diesel fumes . . .heat rises from heartless pavement . . .Clip . . .Clop. . . Ping.) Sound of two-hundred-dollar Florshiem's hopping up the fake-aluminum steps into the worn city bus.
"Hi, "Dick." The old, seasoned bus driver simply nods as he has a few hundred thousand times before.
"Hey, Mac. Got'im token?"
(Sighhhh . . .sound of disgust. Clink . . .clink. Sound of bus token sliding into the fare application hanging to the right of "Dick," the bus driver.
While our scared subject is making is way to sit in a seat once occupied by a man with a greasy butt, the end result of seeing a Protologist after "wolfing down" three chili dogs and four cold beers.
Ahhh, "The Green Pig," such a cute little thing lying in its soft, grassy bed letting out squeaks and other confusing noises. Babies of all living things are of such description. "Green Pig" is no exception. You see, he has to become innocent or act, rather, to be able to grow and deceive innocent students of a formed teaching system on a slippery foundation into sopping their weary souls into his seepage of lies and glitzy fortunes easily made."
Much like the verbiage in Hollywood action screenplays that states about a killer's bullet, "you never hear the one with your name on it coming," so much is like "The Green Pig," and his ease of sticking his tushes into your heart while you are over-thinking your role as a "bread winner" and proud to be an American worker. Even "The Green Pig" feel prideful about his role of driving, kaniving, and realizing how much of a fool you and many like you are who think that "honesty" and "loyalty" are only smoke screens made him him to blind you temporarily while he sets his tushes in a wrong position to where you are not knowing any resemblance of right or wrong.
Three cheers for "The Green Pig!" "Hip! Hip! Sooo-eeeee!" No offense to alumni of The University of Arkansas or citizens present, past or future of "The Windy City": Chicago, "Hog butcher of the world," but closer inspections by wiser men (now turning to sand) who took a few years to gain the vision of what "The Green Pig" was doing a long time ago in Chicago (besides bootlegging, book-making and being low down gangsters) and they found out and soon had to die.
Sad. If only one of these brave, independent men who helped write the book about "Butchering," "Iron Working," "Dock Working," and being a city of one family, had lived to present one speech to one group of graduating high school seniors, just maybe "The Green Pig" would have not grown into a hog.
"Hog," as Known as a Grown Hog
"Hog," the another noun defines early forms of "greed" found in coal mine workers in early Appalachia, Kentucky, and Virginia, God rest their unsettled souls. "Greed," is "The Green Pig's" first cousin, but they seldom speak. No one really knows why. No one really knows who came first, "Greed" or "The Green Pig." But whomever trained the other mastered the human's ability to resist temptation of getting more, having more, and working more, and not feel any faint signal of neglect toward their sweet family waiting at home. This was much like the "American Household" of the "Prosperous, Progressive Industrial-Linked Household of The 1950's," where the male went to work and worked. Never having a reason to be in management, but hold down a hammer or wrench on the assembly line. God bless Henry Ford's greedy soul.
"Hog," is a well-known verb that speaks to people who eat their food at light-speed and become gluttons. Or to "hog" their way in front of innocent customers to be first in line to buy the latest fad in toys, machines, and clothing.
Things back then worked without conflict or question. "The Green Pig" was evolving from a crafty way to raise corn and cotton, but now involved in the early manufacturing of "America's New Toy": The automobile. Man, how "The Green Pig" danced an unseen dance right right under the American workers' noses from 7 a.m. until 4 p.m. "Do, si, do! Make that money and away you go!" Many American workers were deceived so deeply that they lost their ability of reasoning and just went ahead without discussion to work ungodly hours of overtime and back then, "overtime pay" was much like the red flag of Karl Marx and his Commie Party. Taboo to be left out of the men's room, by gum.
All people know about crafty farmers (before The Industrial Era) in early America is that there was this kick-back program initiated by cotton seed manufacturers "jumping into bed" with local cotton gin owners to would "pay down" the Federal price of cotton and although this practice was never exposed and did upset a few wise farmers, the rest of the cotton farmers kept their mouths shut for fear of being "froze out," (the gin refusing to buy their cotton) of the cotton market and having their families to starve.
There was a similar practice in the corn farming areas of America, namely the Mid-West, but farmers there were too ahead of the rural farmers down south and did not bite on the crooked corn silo owners who were out to make more than a killing on a hard-working corn farmer's harvest. "The Green Pig," is not a perfect entity. The crooked corn practice proves this point as "Green Pig" only got one of this tushes into the side of a few corn silo owners.
Our scared subject who boarded the city bus rode as far as he could and did a swell job of not bringing attention to the black box the young man (with soiled hands) gave him earlier. But the man was needles to say, more scared now than ever. Questions are bombarding his work-taxed mind more now than when he would stay up all night to "cram" for Chemistry or Algebra tests in high school and when in college, he turned to amphetamines to take care of that sleepy head when taking his Business Theory exam at term's end.
But the black and white film he is going to view in mere hours will somehow open his eyes (to a point) and hopefully he will see how dangerous his unwilling alliance with "The Green Pig" can be. Oh, maybe not in gun fire or smuggling illegal items from the once-drug fields of Colombia, South America. But danger such as one once-innocent man losing his way and knowing that he is wayward from the "Righteous Pathway," and is numb to all wise alternatives to right his ship.
Besides losing his way by following "The Green Pig," he is also losing his name which was once tarnish-free, but now he is suspect to every new client he meets with and how they detect his discipleship to "The Green Pig" is that his sales pitch is almost one-hundred percent made up of statements like this: "Now if you sign with me for this huge, money-saving deal, "I" will, to be honest, make myself a few big bucks that my "Tommy" can use for his college fund." Or "Be wise. Sign the sales contract with me and you will see instant dividends, my buddy. Instant! Do you know what that feels like?"
Surely a man filled with the vapors of greed and lust for the fading greenbacks that have sometimes eluded him as a junior partner in his sales firm. But no more. Ever since the evening that his boss, "Bill Donald," lead him gently into the waiting arms of "The Green Pig," who used "Bill" as a ventriloquist' dummy to tell him the ease of how he could sell more products "if" he would not do certain things or "if" he would do certain things.
Our scared, terrified subject is trembling as he finds a shady place in the park in his hometown. He is secure in the knowledge that now, he can see something tangible that he used to hear radio preachers talk about when he was a child of five. The film is his life from his first step, first word, and first kiss to an hour previous to him sitting down in the shade of this huge Oak tree that reminds him of his grandpa's farm in Ufaula, Texas where he and his parents would visit every Thanksgiving and he would sit on his grandpa "Ike's" knee and tell him what he was going to be when he grew up.
Tears roll quickly and suddenly from our scared subject's tear ducts. He is no more ashamed of openly-weeping about what he sees on the brittle-but-accurate black and white film than he would be from urinating behind a dumpster after a night of beer-drinking in his frat days with his buddies. Our scared subject is opening his eyes to "the" truth about "The Green Pig," and how huge this monster's hold is upon the workforce of America and now infecting Europe and the Middle East as well.
Our scared and now terrified subject sits silently shaking with remorse and self-degradation from being such an idiot for over ten long years padding the sidewalks of most cities on the Eastern Seaboard and spending weeks on the road calling his trusting wife every other night only to report an"average" sales day. But he did feel a flicker of self-respect for he knew he had conducted himself with honesty, integrity and compassion for the little clients as he had awe for his bigger customers.
In the far distance we hear a groaning and it sounds like "Dr. Frankenstein's" monster whom he built with spare parts from cadavers his assistant dug from their graves. The awful moaning is that of, you guessed it, "The Green Pig," whose head is shaking and looking down at the cold ground trying desperately to think up some slick lie to *Reaper who he knows is coming for him in a few hours.
Chalk one up for one nameless salesman who had the guts to admit to himself that he was a "sucker" for the sweet, believable lies spoken by "The Green Pig," with the emphasis being on "spoken," not "oinks," for this is a personal thesis, not a children's story.
Tomorrow he is going to quit his sales firm and get a regular job with a landscaping company. Maybe when he is just starting out, he will feel good, he thinks himself worth a grand sum, to actually "do" some manual labor and feel the honest sweat roll off of his once confused forehead.
As for "The Green Pig's" appointment with *Reaper, well, that is just too gory and bloody to write about for other would-be gullible salesmen and saleswomen to read about. This thesis was enough to keep their eyes open and their character and integrity intact.
*Reaper as in Grim, the proverbial, yet metaphorical angel (spirit) of death.
Historian, Arthur P. Smythe said, "Greed rides a swift steed to blind the common of their needs."
— Arthur P. Smythe
© 2017 Kenneth Avery
Mr. Happy from Toronto, Canada on February 20, 2019:
"Kenneth has a taste for abstract/prose poetry" - Now things make a little more sense. I didn't see this before today. Haha!!
Kenneth Avery (author) from Hamilton, Alabama on September 11, 2017:
I am there.
(and thanks for the comments and warm friendship.)
RoadMonkey on September 11, 2017:
Hi Kenneth, if you go to my profile, you will see what I am and that may answer your query.
Kenneth Avery (author) from Hamilton, Alabama on September 10, 2017:
Dearest Sakina :)
Thank you sincerely for your kind remarks. Thanks also for mentioning the dialogues, but you should know that the dialogues ARE one of the main doors to understanding the "Green Pig Disease."
If I were grading this piece by your commnts, you and RoadMonkey, I would give you both an A+ for observance and patiently unraveling the metaphorical instances.
Both of you stay safe and write me anytime.
Kenneth Avery (author) from Hamilton, Alabama on September 10, 2017:
You actually unraveled this thesis? Let me guess. You are, (or still are) a teacher or professor, right?
And I am being honest. Hardly no one could have read this thesis that took me a very long time to read and research.
You even got past those "negative triggers" . . .phrases, words that can easily divert the reader from the main focus.
Great show, RM!
Thanks for reading and commenting.
Sakina Nasir from Kuwait on September 09, 2017:
This hub was great buddy. You've given a good message through this and I like the way you've written down the dialogues and scenes. Brilliant writing as usual. :)
RoadMonkey on September 08, 2017:
That's a good allegory. Maybe we all need someone with soiled hands to come calling.