The Forest Through the Trees
Greetings and salutations houndees, hounders and houndosexuals. It’s been awhile but the ‘ol Puss is still pussin. I just hope you’ve all been hounding that kraut (if you haven’t, may God have mercy on your soul). I’ve realized recently that my less than sweet-relish disposition might be a mystery to readers, so I’d like to explain my sauer self. In short, I see forests and never trees. And I’ve no doubt you’d be sauer too if you hadn’t seen and appreciated a tree in a solid decade. A tree, you say? Yes, a tree: a detail, a delight, a curiosity, a cherished process, a small thing that makes life bearable. Forget stopping to smell the roses, I couldn’t appreciate a sequoia even if it was growing into my rectum. Ol Puss here just sees big ol’ forests, mostly black forests, mostly haunted forests for that matter.
“What’s it all about, Sauerpuss?” That is what you’re asking, no? What is the world but a giant puzzle – the larger you can make the pieces, the more likely you are to complete the overall picture. This is a life’s work though, and most fail to render even the most meager of pictures. And women? Don’t get me started on women, drop them down in the middle of Brazil’s most majestic rain forest jungle, and they will sooner comment on the disagreebale hue of the tree moss or their flip-flop rubbing on their big toe than bend a knee to the glory of one of earth’s great eco systems – to realize one’s miniscule part in this most epic piece of art we call life on earth. It is the lot of men to see forests, to plot paths, to make maps and fit puzzle pieces. If you manage to sprinkle in some finer details, to climb a tree, to admire a bloom, all power to you. Ol’ puss I’ll be here spottin’ and plottin’ them big ol nasty forests.
Puss – out.
-Sauerpuss
Low humidity, cooler temperatures, and the faintest hint of color to the trees can only mean one thing… it’s just about time for the cabbage harvest. Yes dear readers and eaters, fall is just around the corner and as we welcome its cooler embraces this year, I would like to put to paper my take on an age old adage who’s folly is reborn with each generation. Every September and October, Manhattanites brave the blowjob infested restrooms of the Port Authority or bask in the grandeur of Grand Central Station for one purpose. Color. They hope to escape the buildings and the walls and breathe a little bit of that good upstate air. It ain’t always a hoot getting there, unless bathroom blowjobs are your thing. And so I wonder with you now, do we see the forest through the trees?
The answer is, it depends. I mean, how many layers deep do we want to go? Do rat race New Yorkers setting up Bumble dates for that evening really see through the trees on their trip? Do they understand that life is deeper than a paycheck or a pussy, no matter how big or deep? Do they understand that life is a miracle and every moment of the journey must be treasured? Maybe. Maybe not. But do I realize that writing about whether or not people realize if they are enjoying life correctly is just as, if not more, getting stuff in the trees?
What we all need to see, is that it ain’t about the colors. It ain’t about my analysis. It’s about the forest and the trees. They are all good, as long as we see one of them. Life isn’t about the long or the short term. It ain’t about the big picture or the small one. It is about all of them all at once.
So go ahead, New Yorkers. Stair at the minutia of trees. Or don’t. Look past them and see the whole grandeur of the forest. Or don’t. Set up your Bumble date and get laid, or fuck it up and have a drink thrown on you. Enjoy it all or none of it. Write your blog ironically, break the fourth wall, or don’t. You are the forest and the trees my friends. The cabbage and the kraut. So live, die, or ferment… one way or another, you’re doing it.
-KrautHammer
