------ Vincent D. Faini's soon to be released books: ZEN & THE ART OF RESISTANCE TRAINING - A Scientific & Yogic Approach To Weightlifting; MOST PEOPLE TALK BULLSHIT - One Primates Search For Intelligent Life; ADVENTURES IN MARINE BIOLOGY - LONG AWAITED BOOKS PREMIERNING SOON!! --

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MOST PEOPLE TALK BULLSHIT:

One Primate's Search For Intelligent Life (GENESIS)

1965

Hunger My Constant Companion

      The New Islet River was less than a hundred yards from our house. This stretch of river between Sneads Ferry and Camp Lejeune was briny. The riverís fresh water drove out towards the ocean from inland, co-mingling with the Atlanticís salt-packed water, which was simultaneously forced inland on its eternally crashing waves. Both of these sources blended together creating a slurry for a greater range of life than supported by the average river, the mix of marine and fresh water allowing fresh water fish and turtles to live right along side many species of animals usually found only in very salty waters.

      I loved walking down to the riverís edge, exploring and hunting for food. I could sense the power of the river was vibrant with life. It did not possess the rumbling power of a large river cascading down a rocky mountainside; this river was languid by comparison.

It was usually calm, with gentle, lapping waves, whose inhabitants enjoyed the slow methodical rise and fall of the tides.

      Instead, the power that this river gave off was the richness of creation, of birth, of death and decay. Itís essence hung heavy in the air, often caressing my body, if the wind was just right...especially my tongue.. After the tide had ebbed, the algae and the bodies of shellfish and other marine life lay trapped on the drying sand and in the crags of the rocks, and I could taste and almost feel the chalkiness of calcium, the tang of iodine that was so dense in the air during this cycle of life and death.

      Low tide was the death knell for some animals of the river, but for others, especially the crabs, it was their opportunity to scurry about and search for food, to rip off the flesh of hapless animals trapped there, dying or dead, to fight, feed, or breed, whichever any of these creatures was compelled to do to complete the cycle of life and death. Sea gulls and other birds completed their strafing runs, joining in the feeding frenzy.

Life and carnage was everywhere!

It was beautiful!

      During our many excursions, my brother and I often came across frolicking porpoises, sea turtles methodically paddling up and down the river, assassin sharks stealthily searching for prey, hard-bodied, silvery sturgeon, huge, aggressive catfish, jittery perch, cantankerous snapper turtles, and a variety of crabs skittering about looking for a tasty meal of carrion. Clams, scallops, mussels and all of the other shellfish hunkered down, sucking their food in through greedy feeder tubes, the solitary ugly-looking toadfish and the frivolous shrimp.

      The array of river and marine life was seemingly endless! 

      There was also an abundance of wildlife on land as well. Everywhere I looked, there were a wide variety of snakes - pit vipers, rattlers, and the king snakes that dare to devour them. There were lizards that walk on all fours, and some of these would rise up to race in a bipedal manner; other lizards burrowed and fed in the sand, the anoles slyly shifting their shading. There were box turtles and lumbering tortoises blithely trudging through the barrens, ponds and lakeshores as they fed and mated. The barrens and the river were thick with a plague of frogs and toads of all types: the domineering, aggressive bull frogs devouring their competition, the sleek leopard and prickled frogs carefully staying in the periphery as cape hunting dogs will do with lions, the croaking, chirping tree frogs perched high as they sang and searched for a mate.

      In the spring, all of them took to the streams and ponds, putting aside their quest for food to mate: the female frog, fat with millions of eggs encased in protective jelly; the male, one- to two-thirds the size of their bloated mates, clutching and struggling greedily with their webbed forelegs under her arm pits, back legs on her fat sides in sexual desperation. They reminded me of frantic bull riders trying to hold on for dear life as they fucked Froggy style.

      There were various salamanders that made their domiciles under the moist fallen leaves and logs or stayed in the water. Some were small, drab brown with orange underbellies; others were long, chubby, and multi-colored or tiger patterned.

      There were also a wide variety of colorful birds, such as the beautiful red cardinal, majestic eagles, powerful ospreys that snatched fish from the river, owls, private and secretive by day, shadowy death wraiths by night, cunning ravens busily killing and collecting souvenirs, pelicans trawling in one or more fish per swoop, cranes stepping delicately through the reeds, squalling bickering sea gulls, an affront to all creatures, especially the fishermen and shimpers. It was a wonderful assortment of birds.

      To my pleasant surprise, but not without a bit of fear, I found that there were also alligators in my new neighborhood. They could be found in the swamps all around the area. Before moving there, I had thought they were only in Florida. But, they had managed to make their way north. It was later that I found out that there are inter-coastal waterways that run continuously from Florida to North Carolina. So, I suppose thatís how they made it to the area where we now lived. I thought it was just neat!

      The abundant life at the edge of the New Islet River would prove to be a source of supplementary food for my brother and I, and sometimes my sister when she would choose not to be so squeamish.

    My mother working as waitress did not provide her with the necessary income.

    Between the low wages from work and an absence of child support from my father, her struggle was hardscrabble and it was constant and hard. To her credit and as a testament of her dedication to us, we never went without supper. However, the quantity of food was not sufficient to quiet the hunger for the nourishment that my brother and I craved for our growing bodies. My brother and I never let on to our mother how we hungered, but it was something that we had lamented to each other on more than a few occasions.

      Almost everyday, my brother and I would go to the river, or into the swamps, to hunt crayfish, crabs, fish, or shellfish. We would gather scallops and clams. On the spot, we would smash open the shells and scoop out the meat, guts and all, and wolf them down as fast as we found them. Thatís how harvesting the meat from clams is done; itís pretty straight forward. However, scallops have only a small portion of meat that is edible, and the rest of it is just guts. (The intestines are supposed to be thrown away). My brother and I ignored this rule and ate every part of the shellfish.

      The crabs or fish we caught we brought home to boil or fry. Crayfish could be baked or boiled. Soft-shell crabs could be cleaned and fried for crab sandwiches. My cousin Ricardo showed us how to clean fish and crabs. The hard-shelled crabs we boiled and then weíd gorge ourselves on them.

      Once, when my mother found out that we had harvested some shellfish and crabs, she expressed concern about the legalities of harvesting them out of season.

      My brother and I allowed our stomachs to decide what was right. After that, we kept the news of our future spoils to ourselves. Usually, we would warm up the food that mother had prepared the night before, since she normally got home from work late, and supplement her food with the crabs, crayfish, frogs, turtles, fish, and shellfish weíd harvested. It helped to get James and I through what would have otherwise been very uncomfortable times; even my sister indulged, now and then.

      During the season when my uncle and the other shrimpers brought in their catch I worked down at the dock with the other women and children, de-heading and cleaning the shrimp and packing them in ice. De-heading the shrimp was a skill using your thumb and popping the head right off the body of the shrimp at a fast and furious pace.

      I loved the taste of shrimp, especially in those hunger-filled days. The little beauties, however, are filthy. They have spines that often puncture or cut the hands of the people cleaning them, sometimes giving them pretty nasty infections.

MOST PEOPLE TALK BULLSHIT:

One Primate's Search For Intelligent Life (EXODUS)

 

MOST PEOPLE TALK BULLSHIT:

One Primate's Search For Intelligent Life (REVELATIONS)

 

MOST PEOPLE TALK BULLSHIT:

One Primate's Search For Intelligent Life (JUDGMENT DAY)

 

ADVENTURES IN MARINE BIOLOGY

 

THE MARINES: GOD'S CHOSEN WARRIORS

 

VINCE'S GYM

 

CONVERSATIONS WITH NEO

 

NEO TEACHES ME THE ART OF WAR & PEACE;

His Version of The Matrix

 

MEMORIES OF MY FATHERS

 

ZEN & THE ART OF RESISTANCE TRAINING:

A Yogic & Scientific Approach To Weight Lifting

 

ZEN & THE BIOLOGY OF TRANSCENDENCE:

The First Matrix of Psychic Phenomena

 

ZEN & THE ART OF KINESIOLOGY:

The Yogic & Scientific Approach To Movement

 

ZEN & YOUR ENERGY SYSTEMS

ZEN & VARIOUS ASPECTS OF TRAINING

 

MOST PEOPLE TALK BULLSHIT:

One Primate's Search For Intelligent Life (GENESIS)

HOMEPAGE

 

 

 

faini

most people talk bullshit

brent fletcher

requiem for a mindlife crisis

 

 

 

 

 
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