The King Of Nordhouse
The King Of Nordhouse

Thursday • March 28th 2024 • 12:02:10 am

The King Of Nordhouse

Thursday • March 28th 2024 • 12:02:10 am

My initial schooling was a lot of fun, I’d carefully choose some wise narrated books.

And pack for a small wilderness, where I would explore countless little things.

While growing in knowledge, wisdom, and intelligence.

I never felt any discomfort, I was at home with nature.

And a day came, when Nature asked me to stay.

To never go back to the city, to stay with the green.

I knew this was trouble, but I felt nothing but love for my home.

I packed up and left, I had inventions to invent, more books to read.

I am a creature of nature, but a thinking one.

And thinking creatures muse flee home, become Philosophers, and eventually grow all the way up.

I had a friend in the woods, also a thinking creature.

It all started when I first escaped, what we should refer to as Cultural Enshitification.

Terrible news, broken TV shows, propaganda against great beings, like Miss Rand.

I was having a breakfast, and the person in charge of cleaning the each I was living at.

Freshly figured out, that I was living at the beach he was cleaning.

And hence came the question, who, I say, who, is feeding the racons.

I skillfully covered up the pita bread, with a map I was studying.

And cheerfully replied, I don’t know.

Somewhat dumbly looking up, directly at the top of the pam tree.

Where my little boys lived, the baby racons I was frisbeeing the pita bread to.

He looked at me with grave suspicion, and buggered off.

But I thought of him kindly, as he was keeping the beach area spotless.

Once I realized, that I may not need to drive for three days...

To get to a beautiful shore, I discovered Luddington, MI.

And its pretty State Park, and the mysterious wilderness right behind it.

The Nordhouse Dunes, an ancient and beautiful place.

I first slept in my car, then in a tent by campers (large camping cars).

And then, when I was ready, I went-a-walkin` to the Jack Pines Hike-in Sites.

It was a beautiful day, in fact the month or two I stayed the.

It don't rain at all, Nature knew what she had, and she smiled.

The park ranger who though I was a huge pussy, could neither believe…

That I lived in the woods for two months, and that I had the perfect cloudless weather to enjoy it all.

Alas, it was true.

On my first night, I had hot-dogs, and overheard an argument at the campsite near by.

The lady did not feel like camping, and her man promised it would get better.

But, that is not how you do adventure, and they should have been alone without their kids.

The second or third time, it would have been fine, first camping out has to be simple.

I stuffed my sell silly, with hot dogs.

And having a second bag, I threw a remaining bun into their camp.

Thinking, I didn’t want any creatures, near my tent.

Well, I had a really good night sleep, and awoke at 4 am…

To a hard working person, putting on a rain? Poncho?

I stuck my head out, out of my mosqitoe fort.

And there was no one there, it was kind of getting light.

And I figured it was just some wild animal, going about their weird business that just passed by.

On second thought, it sounded like a wolf earing a map, or a particularly crunchy hiker.

But not a moment passed, the sound returned, and it sounded closer.

A stately Raven of the saintly days of yore, perhaps it has Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

It sounded like some kind of an emergency, even.

Like a desperate man in a 1988s wind breaker, trying to find his dance grove.

I again stuck my pumpkin out, and again, saw nothing but a tidy camp.

I scanned and listened carefully, to see if the sound returned.

And almost peed a little, when I discovered that I was being stared at from the tree.

His name is Friday, he owns Nordhouse.

One of his little hands was in my backpack, though a hole he found by a strap.

Reaching in, to pull out the rest of my hot dog buns.

The other was grasping the branch, making a comical pose.

I hung up the pack, thinking nothing would get to it.

But Friday, Friday, just owns Nordhouse.

I hurried out of my tent, and handed him his now somewhat misshapen and apparent soggy buns.

He looked at me in appreciation, and we became forever friends.

To this day I write about him, and he and his family still thinks about all the food I bought them.

The day, it was time to leave the woods permanently, Friday was near.

He knew it was a goodbye, never had I sat for so long looking into the horizon.

Animals are extremely smart, the wild ones, are something even greater.

He opened up the zipper on my tent, carefully as not to ruin anything pulled it straight up.

And when I returned to the camp from the sunset, I discovered a paw print on my inflatable pillow.

It was not a goodbye, it was a “Don’t be sad, Philosophers, do not belong in the woods“

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