The Native Iowan

I am wondering this morning… pondering… ruminating… Where does all the Impotent Rage we are witnessing come from?

The septuagenarian in me places it one the modern, coddled, childish folks that have never suffered, been told no, been whooped, lost a fight, won a fight, been seriously punished in the corporal sense.

World wide we have a “soft” population that has bene invaded by a rock-hard population. A population that understands violence well. No doubt which “side” will win any altercation.

I often discuss the “Pussification” of the modern world…

Just had a conversation regarding the “modern generation(s)”… I still have calluses on my hands. They have been there since I was about 10. Sure, as an ol-fart my calluses are not what they once were. As my hands age and lose strength I tend to wear gloves. Maybe I am getting smart? doubtful… But my calluses tell a tale of labouring and hard work.

My hands are scarred and seldom do not have a contusion, a cut, or an abrasion. In many ways it’s kinda amazing I still have all my digits. My hands work. My hands do things. Hold tools, fix machines, handle livestock, build, work and suffer.

The modern world, just perhaps, have let their hands go soft?

NAFTA sent the work away. Open boarders closed the door to hard work to the modern citizenry. Here in the Land of Aus all dirty work has been exported. Thats why productivity in Australia is at terminal levels.

Soft hands are idle hands. Cant be too productive if you be idle, too much.

I am thinking the rage I see on the city streets (world wide) comes from boredom, sedentary life styles? A lack of purpose and identity. No identity so I join a group that rages on street corners… ???

Like a working dogs brought into the house and made into a pet… they get lazy and fat quickly, if not “worked”.

Here’s a picture of one of many injuries to my hands:

Just a small injury, I didnt go see a doctor for, but it did slow me down a bunch.

I watched an ol timer, about 1969, stitch his torn hand up in the field. We were fencing… It was a big gash, more of a tear, (like I had above). The ol-dude put it back together with a simple field dressing. Mind you the old-dude had been a marine medic in WW2. One hell of a tough dude. He put a big smear of grease on the cut after suturing, went back to finish the job we were doing.

And the beat goes on…

more later