(a response (reflex?) to the Wendell Berry piece that my friend Jeremy posted over on The Sand County ...just what happened when the pebble of those words hit the pool of my mind...) A Man as Crude as Any I am not afraid to punctuate profundity with flatulence. I am as crude as biology, as physiology, as the undeniable body that flinches and rages, blusters and bluffs. I can not do justice to the gifts I find all around us. These jewels that fall from my mouth are an aberration, the lucky grunt of an ape that happened upon a sound that happens to sound like the sound of another thing, a welling up from within for a thing that will always be a mystery from without. I am not only naked in the sun, but crying and sobbing before the eyes of others. I am too aware of the game to play it well. I would be against the wall, were that practice to find its vogue again. I would fight and feel a fool or I would cast my eyes down and feel a coward or I would do both and be redeemed or I would do neither and be damned. My teeth would become brittle sticks within my mouth and my tongue would turn to stone, and fall into my throat and choke me.