I am on my second metal detector. The first one I picked up in a pawn shop for ten dollars, and it was about worth that. I think I found a penny with it, and lots and lots of ferric materials, aluminum cans, even an old toothpaste tube that had some kind of metallic coating. Now I have one that is still cheap, yet it can discriminate: theoretically. I have not found gold, silver, or platinum yet. Early days.
One thing I have observed about running a search grid with a metal detector is that my eyes are locked on the ground with each sweep of the coil. The pictures above are of the one interesting thing that I have found with a metal detector so far, and it was not the metal detector that beeped. It caught my eye. It was found in Moscow, Idaho in the early part of the 21st century.
This is an early 20th century watch fob made of brass. It promises $100 worth of refund for medical treatment. I assume this is some form of medical insurance. It just goes to show that even when one steps off into the frontier, people were still worried about how to stay alive in a civilized way. Maybe it is just that people were still trying to practice a little hoodoo even then. We must remember that 25 years before this fob was carried on the bow of a pocket watch, people back East thought of this as the frontier. My own grandmother was born in Prescott, Washington in 1890. It only became a state in November the year before. I am sure some of them were still looking for treasure even when she was born at the ranch. Ah, the wild west!
I have not had much luck with watches. My lifestyle or my carelessness seems to be a little bit much for them. They do not last long. For a time, I tried cheap pocket watches. When I was trying them, I had a 22-carat gold watch fob made modeled on this artifact. I was feeling stylish at the time. It has a nice, clear garnet fragment mounted in the middle. You can see it in the middle of the top two pictures if you tap this link:
At the very least the gold is worth money when times get hard. Better to have hard times with stuff to pawn, then have hard times without stuff to pawn.
Ancestor worship is strange, all those whispering voices coming back from the id. Maybe that is why I am working on the discrimination factor with my metal detector searches. It seems to me that when I start a grid, I should at least look at the ground with my eyes and its history first. It will save me a lot of dry holes, not that I cannot use the exercise. This body needs to keep moving for a bit longer until the technology, or the magick gets me my android upgrade.
I try and keep in mind that I am not a human being; I am an animal. As a hominid, I come from a long line of tool users, metal detectors, fire, glass alembics, watches, they all have their uses. I wrote a poem a very long time ago. I think it applies fairly well to us tool users, us treasure hunters:
This is a scan of my good conduct medal from Afghanistan. It was a long time ago, and there is not much to tell. It currently resides in a cigar box with other odds and ends. I have been to Kabul on more than one occasion, for more than one reason. Somewhere around my current digs is a fake fossil that looked interesting in one shop I wandered into. There is a copper ring about the place that some street urchin sold me for 80 afghani. What can I say, I was a lot younger and copper does shine like gold when it is polished? I have always been a sucker. As George C. Scott put it in the movie The Flim-Flam Man, “You can’t cheat and honest man.”
In another cigar box there is my good conduct medal from the occupation army in Japan after WWII. There were sometimes in Yokohama. Tokyo to me is much like certain areas in the hills that I have not visited in 20 plus years. I cannot find the old diggings. In one dresser drawer is an old silk battle flag from some imperial unit. The pastorals on the walls look like originals, but I do not know much about the art history of Japan.
During my school days, I vaguely remember getting a good conduct certificate. I guess I never did anything to warrant too much attention for good or ill. There are a couple of honorable mentions for photos entered into a contest. They are typical of pictures that everybody takes.
One of the lines that I remember from my literature classes was from a John Milton sonnet. It was there in the mire of my memory and floated up one day without the author’s name attached. It surprised me because all I remember of Milton on a general basis is the rosy fingered dawn and the pensive nun images. The line runs, “Thousands at his bidding speed and post over land and ocean without rest: they also serve who stand and wait.”
My sister pointed out to me recently that when we served out in the world, we did not get a lot of recognition for it. I pointed out that we did not even get the t-shirt. What I did not point out to her is that I would not have bought the t-shirt even then. As far as recognition goes, my conduct has never been particularly good, it just was not bad enough to get on anybody’s radar. That has enabled me to just plug along in the background.
When I was born there were around 2 and a half billion people on the planet. There were pushing 4 billion when I washed up on this deserted island after my first war. Now the planet is pushing 8 billion, and I am still living on the same deserted island, just another jurisdiction. One of the first lessons somebody taught me here was how to be invisible. It was worth learning as the island is getting very crowded.
I have never been in the military, not in this lifetime if you believe that kind of thing. But I know that you never volunteer and there are not atheists in in foxholes. There are a lot of artifacts around the sanctum sanctorum these days along with an ever-expanding library. There is the web as well as the akashic record. Into this life I was well drafted, but I can just use the cranky, crazy old man persona instead of being invisible now.
We all know the rules. We all were taught by somebody. I look for artifacts, learn, write. But on Nov. 3, 2016 in this crowded island we live on we learned that the rules are more like guidelines. Well, I did. They sent me my draft card that day. I am just waiting to be called up for my physical.
This is decal somebody gave me along the way, another artifact from the past. It probably came off some dusty shelf that had not been cleaned in 50 years, underneath an ancient cash register that had not made a cha-ching sound in quite some time. There is always a shelf like that. I do not have to go into what this decal was trying to sell. It is obvious, every flower does it. With this decal a person just needs to transpose cash with pollen to see what Florida was pushing.
There are the biological imperatives we are born with, and there is the programing we get along the way. I am retired now, but I spent 40 years working around universities. Spring Break is pretty much punched into my brain. But this is an odd year given Covid-19 and a confluence of events. No job regime picking up garbage for 40 hours a week, free flow of imagination, and history lets me nail together a train of thought much more easily.
Something popped up on the web about Fort Lauderdale and the partying last month. There was even some concern as students booked the cheap flights because nobody was traveling due to the shelter at home advisories. So now some of them are dead, some of them have been sick, and some of them have just spread it around.
It has been many years since I watched “Where the Boys Are”. It was a 1960 film about spring break in Fort Lauderdale. If I remember correctly, the big horror was pregnancy and not being a “nice” girl. The boys were just trying to work out the difference between being animals and adults. I cannot remember if they ever figured out that there was no difference or not. The breeding rituals and taboos of hominids are so weird, and the worst of it is, we think we know what we are doing.
In espionage there is an operation called the “honeypot”. It probably has something to do with bears and honey, but every flower does the same sort of thing biologically. In espionage a flower is looking for intelligence information. It is a kind of booby-trap designed to look like one thing and blow your leg off with another.
Spring break can be looked at as a booby-trap. It is based on a spawning urge that is in all living creatures, but as the decal indicates, it has a luster that can be used for more than offspring. It is the “hurry, hurry, come see one and all, see the beautiful girls, thrill to the monster!” of the carnival barker. When the AIDS virus hit us, that took away a lot of the glitter from the 1960s being sold to us by “Where the Boys Are”. Back then we had a drug that worked, penicillin.
AIDS did not threaten our economy, because all we had to do was try and control our sex drive. Society has been trying to do that since it has been society. That is a time-honored tradition like using food as a bargaining chip to gain cash, not that you can eat cash. Corvid 19 has exposed a much more insidious booby-trap or honeypot. It has exposed that what we call the economy is much more than just cash for goods. It has shown just how dark the glass is when we try and decide what we think we need and what we think we want. It has shown us that people are willing to lend you money, so that you do not never have to figure that out. I think that is because if a person does, that is one less person who will be there to serve those who believe they have what they want, without needing to worry about what they need.
I just shoot pictures, so who can tell . . . .
Suddenly, Without Warning