An English In Kentucky



















February 10th 2009

    When I was small and suspicious of adults I knew it as Mango Fly.  It would start as a pleasant tickle that was easily itched, redden quite quickly, become puss-filled and with a good fingernail, I could pry out the culprit.  A fat larvae about the size of the eraser on the end of some pencils.  Only then did it become painful and sometimes bloody.


    A circumstance that invariably incurred attention from grown ups.  The ointment was a hydrogen peroxide wash, followed by iodine.  Eccentric, maybe, but always important to find fault.  Too much time in the Mango tree.  Which was nonsense. 


    Kentucky has the Bot Fly.  Rabbits, deer, raccoon, livestock are amongst the many that incubate them.  And sometimes, I am sure, people. 


    Then this morning I was informed by a stranger from Washington, DC., that I should consider encouraging Google Bots by developing something called a 'sitemap'.  I found this adult supervision intensely irritating, because while I accept we are not free, I will insist we are not 'one'.  


    Mango Fly, I used to believe, lurked amongst the mango trees waiting for small boys to steal mangos.  Peroxide wash followed by iodine was well worth the sweet taste of mango flesh.  


    In those days, perhaps, I had the mentality of a raccoon.  


    But the Google Bot mincing its way like a steroid through my world is no more than a portent of futures I care little for.  I say this because I have an experience of people and that infectious yearning to be 'one'.


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