Diary entry from the book {Prometheus Lives} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas

               Wednesday July 19     Tent zipper is broken. Spray skirt clip doesn't hold. Cut my hand open, it is trying to heal. My eyeglasses are cutting into my ears. My right hand is frozen in a permanent grip. I put pressure on my fingers by placing rocks on top of them, and flattening my hand out. I go to sleep every night with large rocks piled on my hands. So what's new with you.
                 I'm around mile marker 786. Strong wind today, heavy wave action. It was a cloudy day but rain never came.
                 Paddled past Barfield Arkansas and a town called Ashport. There may have been a city park at Barfield but couldn't quite tell.
                  The river has been desolate, I am all alone on the river. Since St Louis fishing boats have been sparse, I've only seen two pleasure craft, and three logging operations. Large sand bars that are miles long and wide dot the river. The sand bars have a desert quality to them.
                  Headed for Osceola tomorrow.

Diary entry from the book {Prometheus Lives} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas

Diary entry from the book {Promethuis Lives} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas

             Tuesday July 18    It takes some time to load up the kayak in the morning. Small and large sea bags get loaded forward and back.
             Cloudy and cool today. Went through a wing dam area and at eleven o'clock it started to shower. The rivers flow has picked up, eddies, and little whirlpools are abundant. A yellow tow boat came up river on the Caruthersville side near the  industrial bank. I paddled over to the east bank to stay safe from traffic.
                       The rainstorm picked up to a full gale. I ditched the boat on a shallow sandbar and took a beating from heavy rain and crashing wave action. The rain was hitting my face so hard I couldn't see. I dug my paddle into the sinking sand bar and held on.
           Once the storm had left, the sun came gleaming through. A dredge boat lay up ahead. I wasn't sure where to pass, but I found a point. The corps dredge looks like a steamboat. I shortly pass under Interstate 155 bridge. Soon the sun shrivels away and a storm is above me, it looks like a bigger storm system than before. I shove on looking for a safe place to camp. What looked like a ghost ship was a tow boat relic from the past. Passed by four sitting barges, probably waiting on the dredging operation.
           I find a place to camp on island no. 21. It had a coal stained beach and high sand bank. I had to get up to the island on a fallen tree. The island was like a table land or small tepui. This is another beautiful island and it is keeping me alive.
          A hell of a storm hits at night.

Diary entry from the book {Promethuis Lives} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas

Diary entry from the book {Promethus Lives} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas

          Monday July 17     I leave the joyous island No. 8, I hug the eastern shore. I review the map often. Rock bank protection along shore has been with me since St Louis. The barge traffic was heavy today, with the barges doubling in size, and being pushed by two tugs instead of one at times.
            Took heavy broils, eddies, whirlpools, mostly around bank protection. In some areas I went through backward flow. The creeks are running full force.
             The dominant tree is willow, along with cottonwood, and sycamore. Trumpet vine is covering much of the bank in some areas.
              I am camping in the woods, with rocky bank protection. The sky is burning with a haze in the air. The weather radio says theirs a chance for rain the next three days.

Diary entry from the book {Promethus Lives} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas

Poetry from the book {Prometheus Lives} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas

Andy fell asleep, he was just a boy

His dreams went deeper and deep

Until he died from a fall in one of his dreams

And he couldn't be a cat without it

The rain is sand, a man does stand in a raging storm of cresting water in electric blue haze

Don't go home without your turtle

Mother spilled tomato sauce on his home

And killed him sour grapes sprayed with minox-5

And did you know a cottonwood could grow to a feet so old till the limbs come crashing down

Old men of the sea with Red Lobster bibs on, and crusty beards

You'll see them sitting at the park benches feeding the turtles dill pickles.

Poetry from the book {Prometheus Lives} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas

Poetry from the book {Promethues Lives} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas

Picking sand, picking sand, there goes a man picking sand

The sand is everywhere, in everything

Stand above your head and see

Small man, crossed legs doing the flam beano dance with nigger wings

Take a chance on him babe, and you'll see his thing

Wind wipes the cottonwood clean, pretty white things come falling down

Acorns once on the ground are eaten by a big rat wearing a small hat hiding his brain

Those who know him, love him, those who know him hate him

"But can't we be all the same", said a robin with large breasts

She walked into the grass, the wind stirred butterflies around her

She said hello to the world but know one could hear her

From the grass, there was sand, from the sand  there was water, from the water there was sky

Naked she laid down in the grass and slumbered

The Summers sun came down upon her body

The suns warmth felt good on her skin, she closed her eyes

She dreamed of a good man, but there damn hard to find.

Poetry from the book {Promethius Lives} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas