At some point we all get tired or bored or both. But if you can’t play hurt, you should probably quit or die. Granted, both options blow chunks…so lets assume we play hurt.
When I grew up in British Columbia logging deaths were superior to the homicide rate. That is deaths per capita were higher for the logging sector as whole than the comparable homicide figures for the province. When I started logging my safety equipment consisted of a pair of cork boots, a hard hat and a chainsaw! Within a couple of years I got saw pants and a pair of goggles. Ill just note that I did not ever have the pleasure of refusing to work on an unsafe job site…logging is unsafe particularly in the western rain forest. All the logging truck drivers I met over the decade I spent in logging were disabled…a hand gone here, four or three fingers sheared off a choker man’s hand, a leg mid thigh…whatever all bones for the yard…I have a finger in there…everyone who logged back then made a donation (sacrifice?) to Caesar.
Well fuck Caesar, but in keeping with the dead art of dead head logging I am busy modelling in HO scale a working logging and milling town with freight to export points and a captured company town…more than this I can’t fathom…I am Canadian after all…why should my imagination surpass that of the Canadian haute bourgeoisie?
Maybe one day I will model freedumb.
Relentlessly Progressive Political Economy 