Helios

Helios An online journal for literature, art, science, and culture
(1)

03/08/2024

"I loved that audience dearly and gave them a good ninety minutes and afterward a distinguished man stopped by to shake hands. Back when, he’d heard me on the radio. I said, “I detect an air of authority about you. You’re the president of something.” He said he was a retired Army major; he’d commanded a tank battalion. “Where?” I said. “Vietnam,” he said. I said I’d never heard of tanks used in Vietnam. He said, “That’s because they would’ve sunk four feet down in the Delta and so they were useless. When we got there, we became infantry.”

I said, “You’re looking at a draft dodger.” I felt I owed it to him. I said that I was ordered to report for induction and I wrote to the draft board and told them why I wouldn’t go and I didn’t. I waited for the knock on the door and it never came. So I did a radio show for fifty years without using my name. He looked me in the eye and said, “You did the right thing.” It was a profound moment. I felt that an accommodation had been made. I was forgiven by a man who had earned that right. There was no need to say more."
--Garrison Keilor

We are being hood-winked. Biden is certainly fit and Harris even more fit. The media is the culprit that is paving the w...
12/07/2024

We are being hood-winked. Biden is certainly fit and Harris even more fit. The media is the culprit that is paving the way. We need to figure out why pretty quickly.

https://www.youtube.com/
09/07/2024

https://www.youtube.com/

These are some of the films and videos I have made over the years. Some are educational, some travel oriented, and many are music videos containing both original material and classic songs.

02/07/2024

Solitude
BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all,—
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

An essay I wrote for the April 1994 PLANTAGENET CONNECTION
24/06/2024

An essay I wrote for the April 1994 PLANTAGENET CONNECTION

24/06/2024
16/04/2024

If all your problems were solved, what would you do?

My father was somewhat of a mystery to me. He was bright and literate. He supported me in most everything I wanted to do...
02/04/2024

My father was somewhat of a mystery to me. He was bright and literate. He supported me in most everything I wanted to do. He played his vast collection of sound recordings often, so I became well versed in music from the time that recorded music was invented. Dad has a booming bass baritone voice and often sang along, or showed me songs of his own making. Everything he did made lasting impressions on me.
My father had missed his calling somehow. He was the type that needed to love his work, but he had settled for working for others in a factory setting for a wage. He had tried self employment often, but he could not make enough money for the family in an independent workplace. Some might say it was his own fault for not trying hard enough, but I knew better. He loved his family first and foremost. The all-consuming drive that is necessary for great success eluded him by personal choice. It was his lot to put home and family before personal satisfaction and work.
I think I summed everything up in a poem I wrote about Dad twenty years after he died.

Holding A Mirror to the Sun
© 1993 Kenneth Harper Finton

Is it the ghost of him I see
in the restless dreamscapes of a hollow night?
The ghost of him ... or my own flawed impressions?
Twenty years ago my world quaked violently
when he passed so suddenly
from our lives, so quickly there was barely time for tears.
A sudden shock ... a stunning loss ...
and life moved on without him.
With childhood’s end, the world could never be the same.
Twenty years ... so long ago I barely recognize
that younger, wandering self.
Yet, in those silent dreamscapes of the night
he comes to visit still.
A near sighted old neighbor said
he saw him walking through the tall grasses
of the abandoned yard years after we left
the old Ohio homestead.
“Bunk,” I said, not prone to thoughts of spirits,
yet encounters of a kind have occurred
in the darkness of many a restless night since.
I remember those long evenings in the family home,
the easy chair whose arms
held up a crude wood shelf,
flowing over with papers and notes,
my father seated behind this rude table
in his oily green work suit,
lost from the present in the remote past of other peoples lives.
The black and white TV that connected us
with the world blared endlessly,
while mother ironed the clothes
and I shook my head in wonder.
How bored I liked to be on those
hot and muggy summer days when Dad’s idea
of a good time was to walk through silent graveyards,
writing the names from time-worn stones on yellow legal pads.
Yet, caught up in his enthusiasm,
I learned to hold a mirror to the sun,
reflecting shadows upon those faded letters.
Quite often we were rewarded
with a touch of heartfelt sentiment
inscribed upon the crumbling stone.
Often Saturday would find us in
some distant library, digging through
piles of dry old books of facts that smelled of yesteryear,
but all was not studious and dull escape.
All was not the dark, outmoded past,
as I feared in the leafy green and anxious days of youth...
the family trips brought new, inviting places we ran to once a year,
croquet with friends in the evening breezes of the green Ohio grass.
Is it the ghost of him I see
in the restless dreamscapes of a hollow night?
The ghost of him ... or my own flawed impressions?
His choice in music bubbles through my mind.
His choice in pastime rumbles
through my mature years like the distant drone of a passing freight.
Through the years I’ve come to know him
more than yesterday, when I was but his child.
And most of all, I learned to hold a mirror to the sun.

© 1993 Kenneth Harper Finton

I have underestimatedd this book, It is a very goog book that I should not habe been too shy to promote.
01/04/2024

I have underestimatedd this book, It is a very goog book that I should not habe been too shy to promote.

Dimensions are the building blocks of material existence. This book explores in depth the dual meaning of the title. Beginning with the source in zero dimension to the infinite 1st dimension (the point), to the second dimension of the universal plane, to the third dimension that observes the heig...

31/03/2024

Many a man fails as an original thinker simply because his memory it too good.

Friedrich Nietzsche

My grandfather was always an old man to me. He was nearly seventy when I was born, thirty five years older than my fathe...
31/03/2024

My grandfather was always an old man to me. He was nearly seventy when I was born, thirty five years older than my father. Grandpa smoked a pipe and ci**rs and always smelled of strong to***co.
We would spend many hours on the back porch cracking hickory nuts and walnuts with a hammer. He and I ate raw hamburger on crackers together followed by thick slices of limburger cheese.
Grandpa played the fiddle well at one time, but arthritis slowed his movements in his later years. The fiddle sounded pretty squeaky to me, but the tunes he played stayed with me forever.
Grandpa told me tales about his turbulent school days. He related these stories with a crooked smile that exposed his to***co-stained teeth below his bushy white mustache.
In those days, school ended for most rural folk in the eighth grade. With an eight-year education, students could take a teacher’s examination and become a teacher themselves. Some of the students were as old as the teacher.
One of his male teachers had a bad habit of tossing a knife at his students for any infraction of his rules. One day Grandpa turned around to say something to a classmate seated behind him and that teacher threw the knife at him. It stuck in his desk. Grandpa got out of his seat and attacked the teacher.
The pot belly stove was red hot and blazing. Over it went, stove pipe and all, along with the teacher's desk and several stools.The fight boiled over to the outdoors and ended with the knife-tossing teacher being taught a lesson by one of his older pupils.
Grandpa told me a story about one lady teacher about his age who was “soft” on him. Evidently, this crush was a one-way street, as Grandpa didn't give a whit. He had made a sled which consisted of a thick plank with a bevel on the front end. That day there was a heavy snow on the ground with a thick crust. Grandpa and some of his friends went out to slide down the hill. The teacher wanted a ride, so Grandpa agreed to let her take a ride. He headed her in the direction of a small stump that barely showed above the thick crust. When she hit the stump, the teacher rolled head over heels. Her skirt billowed up over her head and showed more than she wanted her students to see. When Grandpa sheepishly helped her back up she told him: "I've seen enough of you to know that you're no gentleman."
Grandpa replied, "And I've seen enough of you to know that you're no gentleman either."
He told me these stories with a crooked smile that exposed his to***co stained teeth below his large white mustache.

* * *

In October of 1960, I saw Grandpa alive for the last time. I had graduated from high school and spent the summer remodeling the house. Dad never seemed to have enough time of energy to work on the house. He was busy with his historical research and tracing genealogies. Gradually, I learned some basic skills and did all the handiwork at home.
Grandpa had been in a sanitarium for several years after suffering a series of strokes. In his late eighties, he was a dimmed shadow of the man he used to be. He was unable to speak. His eyes were barely visible through slits in his fleshy eyelids. His abdomen seemed puffed. He tried to speak, but only a squeaky whimper came forth. His hands twitched like the paws of a dreaming dog. He tried to move from one side to another, but he was like a car stuck in the mud. His mouth looked like it was bound with wire. Death, I realized, would be a blessing to him. Finally, he passed on and we buried him in the family plot in early November of 1960. He looked peaceful and at rest, more like the man I had known most of my life.

* * *

https://wp.me/p4UtiJ-54J
30/03/2024

https://wp.me/p4UtiJ-54J

Tired of living, spurned in loving, deficit in compassion, Andreas Lubitz and his crippled amygdala donned his smart uniform and climbed aboard the plane. A pretty stewardess smiled at him, bid him…

https://soundcloud.com/khf333/poor-boy
29/03/2024

https://soundcloud.com/khf333/poor-boy

Poor boy, you got a good spirt now. Poor boy, you’ve got a good soul. Poor boy, got to pull yourself together now Poor boy, come on and let’s go. Well you know you were a miner, a forty-niner, When y

https://soundcloud.com/khf333/across-a-moment-divine
28/03/2024

https://soundcloud.com/khf333/across-a-moment-divine

She drew a breath of colored air. She felt alive and free and showered care, Loving the movement of the mind Across a moment divine. I curled my toes in weathered shoes, While in my calves a golden p

WHO WILL BAIL TRIMP OUT? RUSSIA, OF COURSE.
10/03/2024

WHO WILL BAIL TRIMP OUT? RUSSIA, OF COURSE.

26/02/2024
https://youtu.be/Q1sHMHbJjCY
26/02/2024

https://youtu.be/Q1sHMHbJjCY

A friend of mine named Joe Wrabek wrote this song. He and I became close on the SOUNDCLICK music site and we agreed to make videos and do a few of one anothe...

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CV7ZCNYY TRY IT, YOU'LL LIKE IT.  EBOOK $2.99.  HARDBACK $11.94.  NOW AVAILABLE
22/02/2024

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CV7ZCNYY TRY IT, YOU'LL LIKE IT. EBOOK $2.99. HARDBACK $11.94. NOW AVAILABLE

Our youth and the coming of age is the most magic period of our lives. Anything seems possible. All is within reach. Yet, circumstances and time changes our perspectives. Possibilities that we thought were inevitable sometimes collapse upon us and force us into different places. This is one such ...

13/02/2024

In 1942 we had to go to France and Germany to fight the N***s. Now we just need to go to the polls.

11/02/2024

In 1820, Darke County was still covered by a dense and but little broken forest. The northern townships were extended areas of swamp, rich in elements of production, useless until the clearing and drainage could make cultivation practicable. Cabins were built upon the higher grounds, and clearings made down the inclinations. Here grew the oak, whitewood, beech, maple, basswood. ash, hickory and other kinds of timber in boundless profusion, and the finest trees were regarded rather as an incubus to tillage than as valuable adjuncts of a farm. Those woods are mainly leveled now, and their grove screens of trees but vail the open fields beyond. Still the trees, while in one sense a bar to cropping land, were useful as containing the material for home and winter fires. When a settler had selected the site of his intended habitation, he felled the timber upon it and cut the logs suitable in proper lengths. The material for the cabin being prepared, he traverses the woods far and near and announces his intended raising. The settlers leave their work and gather in at the appointed hour. In some localities, teams were used, but here in Darke, cattle were scarce and the horses were spared as much as possible for other work. Logs were carried to the sides and ends of the building.

Now four corner-men are chosen, on whom devolves the duty of notching and placing the logs. The rest of those assembled roll up the logs as wanted until the desired height is reached and the work of co-operation ceases. The settler now selects a large-sized straight-grained tree and, felling it, cuts off four-feet lengths. These are split with a large Frow, and as wide as the timber will allow. These are used without planing or shaving for clapboards for the roof, which is formed by making the end logs shorter each row until a single log forms the comb of the roof ; on these logs the clapboards were placed, the ranges of them lapping some distance over those next below them, and kept in their places by logs placed at proper distances upon them. Puncheons for the floor were made by splitting logs of a foot and a half in diameter, and hewing the face of them with a broad-ax, when this tool could be obtained. The length of the puncheons was half that of the floor. The door was made by sawing or cutting the logs in on one side, so as to make an opening about three feet wide. The opening was secured by upright pieces of timber, about three inches thick, through which holes were bored into the ends of the logs for the purpose of pinning them fast. A similar, but wider, opening was made at the end for the chimney. This was built of logs and made large to admit of a back and jambs of stone. At the square, two end logs were made to project a foot or more beyond the wall, to receive what were called the butting poles, against which the ends of the first row of clapboards was supported. A clapboard door and a table were then made. Sometimes, a quilt was made to do duty for the former for a time, and the latter was constructed of a split slab, placed upon four round legs set in auger holes. Stools having three legs were made in the same way. Some pins inserted in holes bored in the log sat the back of the room, served as support for some clapboards, designed as shelves for the dishes. A single fork, placed with its lower end in a hole in the floor, and the upper end fastened to a joint, served as a bedstead, by placing a pole in the fork with one end through a crack between the logs of the wall. This front pole was crossed by a shorter one within the fork, with its outer end through another crack. From the' front pole, through a crack between the logs of the end of the house, the boards forming the bottom of the bed were put in place. Sometimes this was varied by pinning other poles to the fork, a little distance above these, for the purpose of supporting the front and foot of the bed, while the walls were the support of its back and head. A few pegs around the walls for the garments of the women and hunting shirts of the men, and two small forks or buck's horns fixed to a joint for the rifle and shot-pouch, completed the carpenter work.

Chips are now taken and driven in between the logs and the open spaces of the chimney and a bed of clay mortar having been prepared, the cracks were daubed, and the work is done. In houses thus built, and unplastered within and entirely devoid of adornment, our ancestors lived with a comfort unknown to the opulent occupant of many a palatial residence of to-day. Coal stoves or wood stoves were unknown, but in the wide fireplace were found hooks and trammel, and andirons. Near by were the bake-pan and the kettle ; and as homes varied there were to be seen in many a log house the plain deal table, the flag-bottom chair, and the easy, straight, high-backed rocker. Carpets there were none. The beds contained no mattress, springs, or even bed-cord, the couch was often spread upon the floor, and sleeping apartments were separated by hanging blankets. Not. infrequently, the emigrant neighbor, and occasional Indian visitor, lay upon blankets or robes before the huge open fireplace; with stockinged or moccasined feet before the constant, fire. Wooden vessels, either turned or coopered, were commonly used for the table. A tin cup was an article of luxury almost as rare as an iron fork. Gourds were used at the water bucket, and there were not always knives enough to go around the family. The immigrant brought with him. packed upon the horse, or later on the wagon, some articles of better sort.

Upon the kitchen drawers were set forth a shiny row of pewter plates, buck-handled knives, iron or pewter spoons, or there were seen a row of blue-edged earthen ware, with corresponding cups and saucers, with teapot —articles then to grace the table at the quilting, social afternoon visit, or preacher's call; but advancing civilization has sent the plates and spoons to the melting pot, while knives and forks have taken less substance but more shapely form. Perchance a corner of the room was occupied by a tall Dutch clock, such as ticks with measured stroke the minutes by in the kitchen of John Spayd, of Greenville, today.

In another corner, the ruder furniture had given place to an old-fashioned high-post and corded bedstead, covered with quilts, a owner of patchwork ingenuity and laborious sewing. Then the ubiquitous spinning-wheel, and not unfrequently a loom.

A settler of Darke in 1820, thus describes the dwellings of that date: "They were of round logs about ten inches through; they were properly notched at the corners, and well chinked and plastered up with clay mortar, and provided in some instances with front and back door; basswood logs, split in two, flat side up, made a very substantial floor; the fireplace reached nearly across one end; a stone wall from the foundation was carried up about six feet, two sticks of the proper crook rested one on either end of the wall, and against a beam overhead, forming the jams, and upon these rested the chimney, made of sticks and clay mortar, very wide at the bottom, tapering to the top, and serving the purpose of both chimney and smoke-house ; the hearth was of flat stones of various sizes, and occupied a considerable portion of the room. To build a winter fire, there first was bi-ought in a large piece of log which was placed next the chimney-back, and known as the back-log; next came a somewhat smaller log, which was placed on the other and called the back-stick; then came two round sticks, green and less combustible than the others ; these were placed endwise against the back-log, and served in place of the more modern andirons. Upon them was laid the fore-stick, and between this and the back-log, dry limbs were piled in and the fire applied; when this was fairly started more wood was put on and a pile to keep it up lay near by. The fire thus built, which was done about 4 o'clock of a winter day's afternoon, would last a long time with little attention, keeping the family, clothed in good, warm home-spun, comfortably warm."

If, by mischance, the fire went out on the hearth, it was rekindled by a coal or burning brand from a neighbor, or by flint, steel and tinder. In many cabins, the fire described gave out but partial warmth, and the group which sat around it were roasting on one side while freezing on the other. Few, indeed, were the books to be found with the settlers, and newspapers were rarer still. Upon the shelf, there may have lain the few books used at school, the Bible and the almanac, and the paper, when one could be had, was read at evening hours by the light of a tallow dip, or before the glowing hearth- fire.

Only the well to do (and these were few in Darke) could afford a clock. The hour of noon was guessed or may be ascertained by the noon-mark cut upon the threshold, and in place of the bell to call the chopper from the clearing, a cheery shout was given, or tin horn blown. Few were the households where any pictures adorned the wall, and the reed organ had not been invented.
Today, even the children carry watches. Prints, engraving, chromo and lithograph are found in more or less profusion in most houses, and the piano and organ are in the country as well as in every village.

The habits of the settlers were influenced and controlled by their mode of life. Tasks almost impossible as thought of now, were undertaken spiritedly with no thoughts of time or labor. Chopping in the clearings for days alone, and preparing a home to which to bring his family, many a settler became accustomed to the silence, and himself grew taciturn.

�Journeys on foot for many miles were made with little more of preparation than the traveler makes at present. Women and children rode on horseback hundred of miles. It was a delight to the settlers to assemble at some of the log cabins of a winter evening to relate stories of escapes and wild adventures (lining the sanguinary scenes of 1794 and later years. Prominent ideas survive the lapse of time, and the conversation of the aged backwoodsmen, referring to the pioneer period, is of deer, wolf and bear; of trapping, hunting and fishing; of prevailing diseases and makeshifts during sickness; of cutting roads, clearing lands, and journeys to distant mills and markets.

�The subject of food was all important with the settler, and hard labor in the open air created a keen appetite which made of much account the feasts of merry-makings, parties and public meetings. Quality was not so much regarded as quantity. Fish from the creek, venison and bear meat, bacon, and even the raccoon's carcass, were made available for food. Enormous potpies were baked containing fowls, squirrels and due proportions of other meats. The food was generally most wholesome and nutritive. There was a bounteous supply of the richest milk, the finest butter and most palatable meat that could be imagined, and meals were eaten with all the relish which healthful vigor, backed by labor, could bestow.

The clothing worn in early days was generally the same in all seasons. The settler, standing upon the prostrate trunk of a huge tree, stroke following stroke of his keen ax, and chip after chip whirring out upon the snow, little regarded the winter temperature, and coatless and barefooted, the summer heat was not oppressive. The garments worn were mainly the product of home manufacture, where necessity insured effort, and practice gave skill.

HOWE'S HISTORY OF DARKE COUNTY.

JC CARROLL (Euro Punk rock's updated version of Lewis Carroll.)
10/02/2024

JC CARROLL (Euro Punk rock's updated version of Lewis Carroll.)

The new memoir at Amazon. Hardcover.
08/02/2024

The new memoir at Amazon. Hardcover.

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