estrañgo

Life expectancy for American men is struggling back upwards toward pre-Covid levels. Right now it stands at 76 years, although that figure is not adjusted for factors like socioeconomic class, which matter pretty significantly.

Statistically that gives me maybe a dozen trips around the sun, more, of course, or less.

I don’t think I want to spend them all here in étrange fogbound stasis in the 1946 house, foreign, alien, unusual, unfamiliar, curious, distant, inhospitable.

Will the old gringo take his rolling road show down to Mexico in search of the rush all over again before checkout time?

Time will tell, in precisely spilled daily doses; don’t touch that

mando de distanica.

Joyous Event

Growing up, the alleged principles of our alleged faith did not make allowances for the worldly celebrations, but all the turkey and cranberry things were on sale, according to the alt-belief, so this was normally a rare day of abundance regardless.

Thus by default the thanks giving became my favorite holiday–it was, at least, something tipped toward a minor good, instead of just shame, like being forbidden to participate in, say, fourth-grade valentine’s day card exchange.

I still long for hearts and love.

This morning I boiled a package of charcutnuvo breakfast links that came in the Azure order earlier in the week. $6.91, and yes, on holiday sale. The main eating event, if there is one, will be tacos that use up the rest of the meat from the last batch, and at least one avocado before it spoils, because my soul overflows with prudence and providence, as far as anybody knows.

The phone pings without cease and the cat has found a new favorite spot on top of the dryer. I think because:
–it’s high enough
–it’s under one of the heat vents
–it’s the right angle for getting carefully petted every time I have to go into the bathroom where the dryer lives.

The sun, He is shining.

Moreover, tomorrow is supposed to bring one last gasp of a high over sixty Fahrenheit.

I will open the screens and invite it in.

Singing praises and alleluia, for his is the power and the glory and the radiance forever and amen.

Oddpride

I’ve been using the one small space heater more. The last few days, I let the gas stove run free to take the kitchen chill off. And today, right after a warming shower, I flipped the furnace on at last. November 26 is probably a month later than I’ve ever done it before. Am I proud?

A little.

It’s set at sixty-three for now.

It will rise and fall with pride and budget.

Maybe there is such a thing as the perfect temperature, but it’s a fairly elusive creature between 5000 and 6000 feet.

Shedeur

I think I got this. It was trash day and Azure pick-up day and deliciously sunny. I wish I’d got more sun, but I did get a lot done.

There’s sort of two weeks left in the billing cycle and December is almost and sort of covered and there’s a hundred for each of those weeks until things roll over and I get another crack at making it a comfortable month.

The cat is still spending too much time at the top of the world and essentially no time on the west side of the house. Other than that she is, in this phase, seemingly healthy enough.

Maybe by the solstice things will be primed to roll over for more real.

Life. Heartbeats.

For now.

Dreamtimes

Waking rested in the dawn, the clock said six-something. But when I looked again a moment later, now it read 10. Four evaporated hours of timeless invisible sleeping; my body must have needed it. This time I did roll over and up out of bed. To make the coffee, to feed the kittens.

Even pale and cloud-filtered as it was, stepping out into the light felt like such a healing.

I’m going to go back into the bedroom whenever the need for sleep consumes me, but now I’m going to start setting an alarm again. Not to be on time at some vapid job, but to be caffeinated before the first rays of that light.

Six-ten feels about right for now for rising, to catch the early dim rays of seven.

Let’s watch and see.

Thanks Given, Where Due

I stayed up all night and all day because I was very fretful about the cat. At dusk I finally crashed hard for four or five hours. I dreamed that We were selling ‘everything’ off, liquidating assets. When I found out that my pickup was let go for a mere $1900 and that I wasn’t even going to see that pittance, I was extremely pissed–heartbroken really. I stayed that way for what felt like a long time.

When I started to wake up and realized that the truck was still here in reality it was a big relief and I was grateful.

***

Tangent time.

The part of the system called “division of labor”, or specialization, isn’t working out. For me or in general

First it was the plumbers. The people my patron called in for me were stupid and arrogant, and they would have been crazy expensive too, except I yelled at them, through her speakerphone, and in a moderately civil way, that they would never see a dime, and were invited to go fuck themselves. Then I got on Yelp and found somebody else, and they were brilliant, and cheap. A rare success story. Ironically they weren’t really plumbers but HVAC guys. I still haven’t had them back to look at the HVAC, but neither the AC nor the HV are being used. For now. So it’s okay. For now.

Then it was the mechanics. I’ve dealt with a couple dozen of them in recent years, and I’ve got to say that I haven’t been truly satisfied with a single one of them. Half are really bad, half are kinda okay-ish sometimes, and only a couple have inspired any fair measure of trust in me at all. Case in point–the latest one.

Patron offered to get my PS pump fixed in between plumbers. I had some new guys do it because they are easy walking distance from my house. They did so. Except … when I got the car back it had no power steering, and I had to take it back in and listen to them wonder out loud what *I* did wrong. It turned out that the pump they installed was defective right from the factory.

This shouldn’t have been a big deal, and it wasn’t really, but it wouldn’t have been any kind of deal if they had simply test-driven their own work before handing it back to me. C-minus, amigos. Oh, and they had the gall to magnanimously inform me that they were waiving the charges for installing the second new pump. I mean … god damn right you are, mfers.

The expert mechanics in Fort Collins were something of a disappointment. So were the experts in Flag. I don’t imagine you want to care about the details, so I’ll spare you.

And now … the veterinarians.

***

Kitty has been a constant concern for months now and it reached a peak in the wee hours of Friday, and like I said, I was fretting.

I turned to the AI for help and learned a bunch of things that the one local vet should have told me already when I was paying her, repeatedly. Again, you don’t care about the details, but I cut her kitty meds in half and found out what the pros use to treat cats who are scratching and chewing their own skin bloody, a follow-on symptom from Kali’s original problem.

This cutting-out-the-experts approach mirrors pretty precisely what happened when I had the chronically sick Alli turned into my problem and went along with quarantining her in what used to be my bedroom, for literal years–until I got fed up, did my own research, and learned that she never really had to be segregated for that long in the first place.

My bedroom is finally my bedroom again, and that adorably gross orphan furball is doing as well as can be expected.

***

I don’t think very many people in this world of businesses actually know what the fuck they’re doing, or care deeply about truly doing it well.

The point of the game isn’t excellence. The point of the game is to do the least and get paid the most.

I was really quite guilty of it myself, in my working days.

It’s how you play it smart, and of course everybody’s smart now, because they have a phone with them at all times.

***

Expertise is a kind of arms race.

I feel a lot of very different things about AI, but mainly I feel it’s a Gun.

Another step fake-forward technologically, that can be leveraged to advantage in situations both violent or mercenary.

This world we’ve chosen to build is both, on purpose, because that’s how our greed, yours and mine and his and hers, wants it to be.

We’re so civilized ennit.

So very banal toward the evils that surround us and sometimes fill us.

I’m fretting now about that, and de-domestication, and about how to save my kittybaby’s life.

This Idea

This idea that making it hotter inside this house, and particularly turning on the furnace, will make either me or the cats healthier … I just disagree with it on some instinctual level.

At mid-day on a second afternoon of almost no sun, it’s sixty degrees in here.

Not quite perfectly comfortable. But nowhere near unhealthy, not even for a sick kitty.

It’s November on the way to December and at this latitude 60 is warmer than it is getting outside at any time of day.

It’s really good for sleeping, curled up and cozy.

I moderate it with sweaters and little blasts from localized electric space heaters.

Eventually it will drop to 55 and lower and then I will have to reconsider what my instincts are really saying, day by day.

It’s almost like a job ….

This is how it looked during the one hour of partial sun today. Where I’m standing it’s raining, not very gently, but there’s one dry hole in the clouds.

I cling to the light more than I cling to the heat.

Domestique

Lumo, is there such a thing as a wild chicken?

The species most commonly recognized as the “wild chicken” is the red junglefowl (Gallus gallus). It is the direct ancestor of the domestic chicken (Gallus gallus domesticus). Red junglefowl still exist in forests and grasslands across India, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, and surrounding regions.

… and …
When domestic chickens escape or are released into the wild and establish self‑sustaining populations, they become feral chickens. These birds are essentially domesticated chickens that have reverted to a wild‑like lifestyle*. Feral populations can be found in many parts of the world, from the Hawaiian islands to parts of Australia, the Caribbean, and even some U.S. states.

Okay. Is there such a thing as a wild human?

The short answer is no—modern humans don’t exist in a truly “wild” state the way many animal species do.

I was afraid of that.

While we lack a truly wild human population, anthropologists describe hunter‑gatherer societies as the closest analogues to a “wild” mode of life:

Subsistence: They obtain food by hunting, fishing, and gathering wild plants rather than farming or industrial production.

Mobility: Groups are often nomadic or semi‑nomadic, moving seasonally to follow resources.

Social structure: Small bands (typically <100 individuals) with egalitarian decision‑making and limited material accumulation.

Examples include the San of Southern Africa, the Hadza of Tanzania, and the Mbuti of the Congo Basin.

***

Thus the evidence about “what we should do about it” suggests that the answer is to move in the direction of hunting and gathering our food, becoming more nomadic, living in community, and becoming more wildlike.

Not because that will allow us to ‘Go Back Again’.

Rather simply because living wilder allows us to at least start the project of de-domesticating ourselves.

Also because it’s a better aesthetic.

I feel certain you won’t agree, but that’s okay too. Go with God or something … I will too.

***

Lumo, what does it mean to de-domesticate ourselves?

De‑domestication is a provocative way of describing a deliberate shift away from the habits, environments, and cultural patterns that have arisen because humans have been “domesticated” by our own societies. Below is a concise framework that captures what the phrase usually implies, why people talk about it, and what practical steps (and limits) it entails.

 

 

There’s pages and pages more like this, culminating in a list of practical sensible steps to take, written in a self-help style: “Wake with sunrise, spend the first hour outdoors doing light movement … End the day with a brief reflection journal on paper”; all of it aimed at de-domesticating/rewilding ourselves and …

Provided by an Artificial Intelligence.

Yes, Alice, I believe we’re on the other side of the looking glass, and Toto too.

Rule by the People (my ass)

We already know that many Democrats and many Republicans, household names, are in the Epstein files.

We also know that none of them have ever paid any price for the horrible things they’ve done, and almost surely never will. That even if there are token attempts at prosecutions or shaming, that too will change nothing about how this sick world routinely works–how in some sense every one of us counts on it working.

Getting all wound up about the optics, either way, is a lot like rooting for one team to win a football game.

A pleasant distraction that means so little to reality that it might as well not matter at all.

All that said: Go Team Massie.

The Noir

Why I Love Film Noir

Because: black and white with expressionist lighting, night, fog, smoking, drinking, a fast delivery style inflected by radio drama, and inner monologues revealed to us as … audience. Hello.

Most of all, because of the narrative relationship between the tough guy, and the femme fatale.

In retrospect, it’s obvious.

***

On the purely toughguy side of light, linkdump:

https://ziafactorynm.com/current-inventory.asp?builder=Cavco%20Durango

https://www.cavcohomes.com/our-retailers/us/nm/deming/solitaire-homes-of-deming/display-homes?page=1

https://www.cavco.com/our-retailers/us/nm?name=New%20Mexico%2C+USA

https://ziafactorynm.com/view-home.asp?Serial=S2-28643A&id=1703&Make=Cavco

p.d.fphiles

HE KNEW: Trump ROCKED by EXPLOSIVE Epstein Leaks

House SECURES Vote To RELEASE EPSTEIN FILES

Why isn’t it enough to take the orange-colored pedo down?

Here’s WHO ELSE Is Named in NEW EPSTEIN LEAKS

Is There a Trotskyist-Neocon Connection? – w/ Caleb Maupin

***

There’s a reason I give you the news you already know in a form that includes a dose of this analysis.

“You have to rebuild their whole way of looking at reality.”

Maybe I don’t have to, Russell, but I have tried; will, try.

I failed; and will fail. Snitches get stitches and the messengers get buckshot holes in their smooth skin.

I decline to embrace, as a result, an identity as a victim.

I choose anyway to say sooth and do my best to live it, heedless of the percentages and the efficacies involved.

None of that, believe it or not, is an indictment of you personally, or the belief structures you cling to, because I know you too are doing whatever your best is.

Aren’t you?

Precipice

Today is the last we’ll see of 70 degrees for a while. Maybe a long while.

Tomorrow is the last we’ll even see of 60 and of guaranteed sunlight all day.

And then …

Nighttimes drop back down below freezing. The cold dark season settles in, a month late.

I hope to be ready.

Last Night Clubbin’

1: Damaged

2: Your Loving Arms

3: Justify My Love

Tell me your dreams
Am I in them?
Tell me your fears
Are you scared?
Tell me your stories
I’m not afraid of who you are
Poor is the man
Whose pleasures depend
On the permission of another

4: Filler

5: Broken

Broken like a crooked smile
A little hunched over but I walked that mile

Don’t you feel sorry for me!
Don’t you feel sorry for me?
Don’t you feel sorry for me
‘Cause I won’t change my story
Don’t take all my glory
Don’t you feel sorry for me

Coda

No one’s calling for me at the door.
and unpredictable won’t bother anymore.
and silently gets harder to ignore.
look straight ahead, there’s nothing left to see.
what’s done is done, this life has got it’s hold on me.
just let it go, what now can never be.

so many beautiful things
so many beautiful things

Marco Cain

… to marvel darkly at how the mythologies inflicted upon us can live through generations …

The unspoken mythology we were born into, boiled down, amounts to: Fear is stronger than love.

I don’t want to believe it, but at the most basic visceral level, my not-wanting doesn’t make it my not-inheritance. My not-wanting doesn’t make it any less crippling to dreams, or to elusive delight in life.

It remains my cross and our cross as a tribe, to bear regardless.

I only have one other thing to say on the subject, and that is:

I refuse categorically to be blamed for The Fear existing, for its pervasive permutations, or for triggering it, in anyone, and especially not to anyone who nurtured it into me from childhood.

Suggesting to me that I should self-sacrificingly shoulder some major slice of that guilt will only make me a little more aFraid, and therefore inevitably do nothing more than just piss me off.

A self-righteous, brittle anger to be sure.

I own that much, but I will hoard my shame and ration it out only when I need for you to know.

Junkmail Schemes

I’m clawing out from under them, and empty cat food cans.

The refi might actually be a superior option to the HELOC or equity loan.

In some ways. Once the Fed lowers rates another couple of times.

Or maybe I’ll win some lottery that I don’t play any more.

I am not energized by any of the ways, but I consider them too often, in idle dreamy moments between clearing the real trash of days or decades.

Puma King of the Waste Places

As far as I know, I was the last person in my family to attend a meeting in a Kingdom Hall.

One Sunday morning in my first year of college, I got up early and walked miles out Willow Creek Road to attend services.

Then I walked back … “home” alone.

The exact details aside though, every one of us laid down our Truth Books at about the same time, and never looked back.

Inside a couple of years, they had all moved away and taken a new last name, which on the surface seems like the main difference between them and me. But it wasn’t.

The main difference was that they picked up new Truth Books–the Gospel According To The Commander, a faith which mostly abides in most of them to this day, fifty years down the line.

Whereas, for the most part, I abandoned books of truth written by anyone else and decided to write my own instead.

You’re reading it now.

I call it the Sooth Book. Possibly I’m trying to be funny, but I don’t think I’m succeeding.

***

Possibly, I’m right in the particulars of how I see civilization and the Fall from Grace for this species, sure.

But my correctness, it is said, begs an important question. Your version of the anarcho-primitive is all well and good, bro, but …

Given all that, what the hell are we supposed to do now? We can’t go back to Eden because it’s been wiped off the map.

How then shall we live? My pointy-headed sooth doesn’t have anything to say about that, does it?

No, it doesn’t. Not really. You are right, about that much. We can’t go Home again.

So then the only thing is to go forward, in some kind of toothless ungodly pragmatic optimism?

Personally I have to decline that offer, alas.

***

I don’t know what you should do. I barely know what I should do, but I have thoughts from time to time on the subject.

There is no hope for rewilding the planet. There is no more than a sliver, that we could even ever rewild our societies, or our, what do ya’ll call ’em? Our markets.

But I do think it’s marginally possible to undomesticate our … selves.

And that the buzzword of “rewilding” means, more or less, if it means anything–reversing our own self-domestication.

Or at least eviscerating our own compliant compliance, with the domestication imposed on us from outside.

You don’t really want a ‘netflix subscription’, seriously, do you?

I don’t believe you want to haul that fucking phone around with you every god damned place you go, even to bed sometimes, or all the time.

I don’t believe that any sane person would want to ever subject themselves to the inhumane indignities necessary just to indulge themselves in the convenience of commercial air travel these days. Much less routinely.

Or decline to live in the sticks because the sticks are just too inconveniently far from an airport or a Walmart or a Chipotle or even an organic food store.

I don’t believe that any sane healthy person would want to be Employed, and that bitching about how the homeless don’t really want jobs says way more about the bitcher than it does about the homeless.

I realize that most all of this directly contravenes what it says in the commander’s gospel, which exhorts us to embrace leadership, be content with following, or … or what?

Do the truly unthinkable.

Devote our minds and spirits wholeheartedly to finding the mythical kingdom of Helloutta.

Which is not a place, or a time long past.

But rather, a painful and usually unrewarding authoring, for our individual selves a radically untamed modus vivendi that meets our own actual spiritual needs.

In my arguably humble opinion.

Fauxdobe

It’s a doublewide just like the zoning people want. It’s 1700 square feet.

Direct Link to Zia Factory Outlet

Typical listed price (Zia Factory Outlet)
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Dealer contact
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Also: A 1493 square foot variation on the theme, confirming the $78K base price, for a model actually in current inventory.

Desert Solipsism

Cogito ergo sum, said Descartes. So then, I be. Beyond that we can’t really know much. My consciousness exists. I can go out on a limb and conjecture that yours does too, but … that’s pretty much the extent of what is strictly knowable.

But molecules, you say. Quarks. The seemingly palpable evil that is Orange, and his immigration policy.

Yeah. Maybe. Speculative, if we’re being strictly honest.

“It is what it is”.

No it fucking isn’t.

It is what your conscious chooses to decide it is.

I want to go Home now, wherever that may be tonight, and I want to stay there and I want to proceed with my lively cogito-ing and summing.

I want to feed my cat, assuming she too continues to abide.

At least it feels like that’s what I want.

There’s a lot more that could be filed under that category, but right now it feels like what I want is to say no more.

***

Then there’s your eminently practical question. Maybe everything you say is precisely right old son, but what dafuck do we do about it?

Care A Lot? i suppose, for so long as we have the stomach for it.

Mi/Cocina

Me and the AI, visual edition.

There’s a separate tool that lets you pause at any given paragraph in a story and let it try to generate images based on on that paragraph (plus everything that’s happened in the story up until then).

So I did that.

These images are some of the results of trying that many times with one of the things I’ve written.

This time in my life reminds me of 20+ years ago, about the time the RME was being born, when I was beginning to learn HTML and CSS and making my first good beautiful web pages from scratch.

In isolation from the rest of everything, that is an unalloyed good thing.

The next few days I’ll be traveling, so you may expect brief service outages here; in the event that you think what I’m doing qualifies as Service. I do–to the extent that I have Patrons and this is how I’m serving them for the blessing of their support. Again, you have my thanks.

Imperfect Illusions

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are healthier approaches to life and its people than mine. Those approaches are no longer open to me. On this side, trauma dreaming comes so easily and valentine truelove is a fairytale, due to

the ways I’m broken by shame.

I do intermittenly feel you near me

anyway. Especially when you ask me to tell you a story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The images come from a DLC for FNV if you’re curious, but they’re not as important as the words,
I am drowning in.

So Yeah

I’ve been playing with some AI tools, in particular one called a Story Generator.

Except … It doesn’t generate stories. It responds to thematic prompting and specific details generated by the, um, Author. This prompting happens at the start, and again after every paragraph that the machine spits out. The writer, for lack of a better term, can also edit the text directly and manually as the sentences stack.

And I do, heavily.

The bad news is: Ick. Fake creativity! Remember the HemingWay!

The good news is: I’ve completed several relatively satisfying stories over the course of a couple of days for … the first time in my life.

I told you I’d steal back.

It’s early days, and I don’t know yet what I’ll do with the results of this process. Post it for free? Polish and have a poke at monetizing it?

Maybe neither, maybe both.

Because … I’m enjoying myself, and what I do or don’t do regarding publication will also be about enjoying myself.

In the future, some posts here will be fragmentary teasers, like yesterday’s.

I’m guessing most will continue to look more like this one. Hand carved, rough and as real as anything in the mere five thousand year history of Lit can be.

I’m … vibrating with a quiet excitement.

Also, the cat is doing unexpectedly better, knock on wood.

auraculture

The bartender slid the whiskey glass across the chipped formica. “Last one, Seth. You look like wasteland warmed over.”

Seth Morgan wiped dust from his beard with a trembling hand. He didn’t taste the bourbon—only the grave dirt under his nails. Four hours since he’d shoveled Arizona clay onto his father’s coffin. The old man’s last word still echoed: Disappointment.

Near the jukebox, Valentina Reyes traced the barbed thorns of her turquoise ring. Her rattlesnake coat hissed against the vinyl booth as she inhaled Seth’s grief; bitter and electric, like ozone before rain. Botanist by day, she cataloged such pheromones. Tonight, she’d harvest them. The ring pulsed against her knuckle, hungry.

She slid onto the stool beside him. Bourbon fumes mingled with her gardenia perfume. “Your father died owing me.” A blatant lie told in a tone of scraped velvet. Seth stiffened, knuckles whitening around his glass. Predictable, she thought. Grief made men brittle.

Her fingers closed around his wrist—cold despite the desert heat. The ring’s thorns bit deep, obsidian-sharp whispers. Seth gasped quietly, a choked sound, not at the pain but at the sudden flood of images: monsoon storms over Canyon de Chelly, his mother’s laugh buried decades ago. Val’s pupils dilated. Hastsehogan’s joke, she seemed to murmur softly. Make them crave the stab.

To be continued. Probably. Either here, or there.

The Mystery

I’m noticing a massive spike in views here. You would think that’s a good thing, but I doubt it.

A lot of it seems to be multiple hits on random ancient posts. Not human behavior.

Pretty sure it’s AI trying to train itself to sound like quasi-normal written language in large doses.

So here’s the deal, planet-brains.

I’m contributing to your shit. Okay. That will make us even when I steal yours.

Seems fair. More or less.

***

At the same time, the phones are getting absolutely drenched in spam, most of it wanting to set me up for 53 or 66 thousand dollars in loans–‘Your file is almost complete! Call us!’ …

It might be pure scams. If not, it’s impure scams, an attempt to indebt me for whatever I make or ever could possibly make until I die.

It’s shockingly tempting to snatch at any five-figure straw, in the wake of recent disappointments.

I have one thing holding me back, and it’s a code that says my role as sooth sayer is to promote revolution.

Which I why I take care of myself. As best I know how, which isn’t all that good, and yet an honest attempt at the maintenance of an integrity that means less and less to this vapid, putrid, dying brave new world.

For some as yet nebulous higher purpose that may or may not come my way.

Bring it, bitches.

80/20

I would say … about 80% of the time it’s wrong.”

As in: Walking into a modern auto parts store regardless of which brand, staffed by illiterates with phones, you only have a 20% chance of walking out with what you actually came in for, and need.

It’s not me saying it. It’s a guy who visit these stores multiple times in an average week. A guy who not only has no reason to lie, but is often sponsored by such stores.

Even if he’s embellishing and only half-right, that goes a very long way toward explaining why this world generally, and commercial consumer transactions specifically, suck so bad in the brave new world.

I feel very sure that it’s not just about auto parts.

And … this doesn’t count situations where you get the right thing, but it’s defective, as recently happened to me with the power steering pump.

Or a million other bad variations on the same theme.

White people problems? Sure. Maybe.

But this is not the picnic of progress we grew up expecting, or anything close.

This, by which I mean daily life and trying to survive it, is hard. It’s not just you.

Costumes

The era of the Oregon Trail was less than two centuries ago, pretty much no-time by any standard. A couple of lifetimes.

Almost half a million people took that trail, facing cholera and starvation and drowning and other disasters, and poured into the Willamette Valley and points nearby. La, Civilization.

150 years after they did, The Oregon Trail was just … a video game.

In our postmodernist world of video games, the mythos says that typhoid and malnutrition and all the other hardships are imaginary objects in a rearview mirror.

But the mythos is mistaken about that.

And about most everything else too.

Drug Called Validation

Good

I got a thoughtful order for hand-delivery of 3 bags of Anaprim next week. (Thank you.)

If you too are low on stock and attending the event, let me know and I’ll add you to the roast queue.

***

Bad

Following up on the blood sport: We Are All Carson Wentz’s Shoulder, and there’s no such thing as a boss who loves you.

***

Soothin

Date            Dawn      Sunrise    Sunset    Dusk                   Day Length
2025-12-21 7:00 AM 7:28 AM 5:16 PM 5:44 PM              9:47:46

Without knowing anything about temperatures or weather, we can still prepare for the limiting of the light.

So, roughly, up Sixish, and crashing as soon after the other Six as the body will want to (even if that’s midnight), means losing the least amount of photonic goodness and thus presumably staving off the dark moods. For the next two months.

Last night I only slept five hours, and then had to crash down for another 3-4 just to catch up, and feel totally warm again all the way through.

In theory that’s the second-best way, but in practice the fatnap came at the height of the sun, so my thinking is that second-best is not truly all that good after all.

Every equinox is a Slow Learn.

At least the furnace is still off, for what that’s worth–some dozens of dollars monthly I’m sussing.

Fur Babies

Probably the last eighty degree day this year, quite late. Thus The Warming is a good thing in the narrow quotidian shortsighted sense.

I opened all the windows and doors and got it up to 72 degrees inside, for basically free. Soon it will cost extra, to not be cold. I can afford that much with a little belt tightening, and a Patreon account. Thanks for helping.

The cat seems to be holding her own; knock on wood.

***

Also.

I have a lot to say about the subjects discussed in the video linked below.

Broadly speaking I am issuing a concurring opinion. I’ve always like sh0eOnHead, but I think she’s wrong this time, and I wonder about if she’s had a kid, and if that has had anything to do with her apparent drift back toward the center.

There Are No More Normal Guys

That much said, for now I’m going to content myself with just retweeting it. Enjoy.

Processes

The sick kitty I love Process, as it has worked out best over time.

Coffee time in the morning, or 8 AM maybe: She gets a Lickable Treat with a full daily dose of the liquid that is supposed to keep her from vomiting.

An hour later, she gets another lickable treat with half the actual thyroid meds. Then I wait and pray that she keeps it down.

Generally speaking at this point I hide away the normal bowl of dry food for the day, unless the other cats are acting skinny and starved.

At dinnertime, say 4 pm, those two steps are repeated, except that the dose of anti-puke is not full. Maybe a third the size. Extra insurance.

If she holds that all down for an hour, then I start carefully feeding her home-cooked turkey, which she really likes. As much of it as I dare, without stuffing her too full and risking an upchuck. At this point all the medications are in her, and I’m just trying to put a little meat on her thin tiny bones.

This can go on throughout the night, depending on if I’m up, depending on how much she seems to want. The trend is in the direction of More, More Please.

The process is going good. The amount of spitting up is less than its been for a long time, following the regimen strictly now for many days in a row.

Sometimes she’s listless and immobile. Other times she’s bright and frisky. Sometimes she approaches, demanding my love. Other times she hides herself away.

There isn’t any way yet to tell if all this prestidigitation will cure her or even return her to a fat and happy maintenance mode. I hope so and I fear not.

Time will tell.

***

Meanwhile, having put the rest of the house back into an organized mode, again, at least on the surface, and having blasted away at most all of the November bills, I am trying to be out in the sun while its powers of warming are still undiminished.

Out on the patio, the strays and I inspected the shell carefully. What would it really take to get it installed on the truck, and have a serious bed away from home? I came up with a process for that too.

The hardest trickiest part is the first step. One of the plexi windows toward the rear is cracked and partially missing, and I need to replace it, preferably but not necessarily with uncracked plexi of the same kind, cut to the same shape.

Two: Paint the whole thing inside and out. In my head this gets done with the ‘paint’ used for lining the bed of a pickup. I’ve seen whole jeeps painted with this stuff. It looks really cool and it seems really practical for driving around in the scratchy bush.

Three: toward the front, there are the holes of two overhead windows and a theoretical door into the truck cab, all needing to be sealed up somehow. I don’t care as much about these replacements, aesthetically. Plywood and insulation might be good enough. The important part is sealing it well enough to heat and cool the habitable interior of the shell cheaply and well, and without asphyxiation.

Four: Once that’s all done I can put the shell where it belongs. And in a perfect world, be able to remove it and re-install it with a minimum of fuss if that becomes necessary.

Which it might or might not. Anyway, that’s just about potential future flexibility and doesn’t concern me deeply. The first three and a half steps are enough to get me to what I … need? Crave.

***

The cat thing is an urgent and presumably temporary process.

The shell thing is not.

Both are embedded in a tangle of other processes, some of them Daily and some of them unique Projects.

The development of processes is itself a process, and maybe the one that fascinates me most consistently.

This is the nature of my being. Sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse.

Either way it’s okay I wake up with myself.

With Interest

Who do you trust? Who do you believe in?

There’s a line of thinking that says there’s a great big difference between the People that think humans are basically ‘good’ and the People that think we are basically ‘evil’.

Smoke and Mirrors.

I say that ‘people’ writ large are self-interested. Whoever they define as their familial tribe run a more or less distant second. Everyone else is an astronomically distant third.

That’s how we got where we are.

When we settled and started to stockpile the riches of grain in granaries, it was so “our children will have a better life”, and we traded the god-given birthright of our rootless freedom for the delusional security of that promise, and gave all the power to Kings. Or No-Kings, it’s the same shit in the end.

People who are truly even a little bit selfless are rare and precious.

I value them. I don’t claim to be one of them.

My trauma tells me: If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him. So by and large, I do.

The NBA Scandal Gets So Much Worse

The Disturbing Truth Behind Frank Abagnale (Mr. Catch Me If You Can will go to his grave still scamming, and Tom Hanks will too)

Whatever Happened to Jared Fogle, the Subway Guy?

Roman Polanski, the very definition of the cinematic autuer, the summum bonum of the artist class. See also: Louis CK, and Kevin Spacey.

And yes, even Bill Burr. Even Dave Chappelle. Even the co-anchors and their hot takes about Riyadh, which takes, both wrong by the way, illustrate my point better than any of the rest of this.

Neil Young and Joni Mitchell and Noam Chomsky, back in the COVID days. All provably wrong now, and absolutely motivated in retrospect not by the gospel of Science or the Common Good, but by self-interest of various shaded flavors.

Even me.

I’m doing this for the clicks, you know.

It’s not really going well. That’s why I sound bitter sometimes.

1B 2G 3S; New Format?

The Bad

Trust me when I tell you that I abhor the redpublicans, and yes the trump too, whatever he is.

I already do, and trying to convince me that they’re bad just exasperates me. I know, I know.

Especially when the subtext amounts to lesser-evilism: well yeah, bluedems mostly awful but god, look at the only alternative; so much worse.

Just no. No.

If anything I feel more vitriolic toward the alleged only alternative, because on top of all the mess, they are hypocrites and willlful betrayers, of all that may have once been right.

Glenn got me thinking about that. Thanks, Mr. Greenwald.

Tangentially …

How Profit Motives Killed The Bees,

(Why “evidence-based” [and ‘Science’] means less than nothing. The Profitable Manufacture of Ignorance. And how ‘social media’ becomes a spiritual minefield in which we all can easily lose our thoughtful limbs. Like we did over COVID. Like we are, over climate change.)

The Good

I mentioned Manda Scott in the last one. She impressed me enough to want to know more.
There is more.

Her site is called Accidental Gods, and there’s a companion YouTube channel/podcast.

I’m not going to be binging on her, because her path is not my path. She retains a quiet reasonable hope and mine is gone.

But I did think to myself that she might well speak directly to the femmes among my readership, and perhaps even serve as a sort of model, or her presentation as a template.

Here’s hoping.

The Soothin’

Blade Runner Moods Compilation Album * Relaxing Blade Runner Vibes Soundscapes

I thought this was soundtrack, but it isn’t. It’s original composition ‘inspired’ by the cyberpunk classic by someone calling themselves LUX, and I like it.

When I found that out my first thought was GodYes, I can very much use this, low in the background, when I start making videos again.

But deep in LUX’s BandCamp page, it does alas say: ⓒ all rights reserved, and I won’t be stealing.

Because I’m pretty sure that with a little effort I can find something that works as well and is Creative Commons or something like it. Maybe I will.

In the meantime I hope this is at least a pointer to soothing, or possibly even soothin’. Enjoy.

Range Finder

You’re Witnessing the Death of American Capitalism

A very mainstream and slickly produced source tells you what you already know.

I have very little patience for the whimpering blue No-Kings nonsense about how Trump is the one bad actor bent on destroying freedom. He’s all that, for sure, but some of your favorite boss men are no different.

From the point of view of capital, the eradication of freedom is a feature of the system, not a bug.

Capital doesn’t give a shit who you vote for, so long as it owns every candidate.

Which it does.

Yay, ‘democracy’.

***

Thriving in the Human Hellscape

This is nominally a feel-good story about a few species who are suffering less rather than more, in the horrible world we’ve built.

But for every species on the margin that is arguably doing better, there are a dozen doing worse, and another dozen going extinct, and …

It’s still a literal hellscape, regardless.

***

Has Earth Already Crossed MAJOR Tipping Points?

~nods~

***

Because in essence, permafrost melting leads to melting permafrost and runaway methane plumes.

Methane is 85 times more potent at creating greenhouses effects, compared to the CO2 we’re instructed to fret about endlessly.

Arctic Sinkholes : NOVA on PBS

New Evidence We Are Entering An Ice Age Termination Event

In my heart I feel that if “we” somehow manage to dodge every bullet and survive the apocalypse, that wouldn’t even be a triumph, but rather a crime against natural justice, like prematurely granting parole to a mass murderer.

It’s very cheering no doubt to indulge ourselves in the Voyages of the Starship Enterprise, and meddle by proxy in the affairs of other worlds; all the worse and inferior species across the galaxy, infecting them with the same rot that’s killing everything meanwhile here in the real world.

I choose to indulge instead in the cold comfort of knowing we’ll never get the chance to fuck up any second Eden.

***

Sometimes of late you’ve implied that I need to forget all that and focus on the Beauty of this World.

It’s not much, but here’s the best I can do at the moment.

I instinctively love these mountains and I choose to think of myself as almost-native to them.

I’ve stumbled across a better name for them, and that does make me happy.

Their rightful name, in my twisted little view, is:

The Cordillera.

Without the capitalization, it’s a generic term for any chain of ranges.

But near here, and for a long way north and south, from the furthest tip of so-called south america and perhaps beyond, up to the rugged Arctic Circle, the capitalization is earned.

Cordillera
is particularly applied to the various large mountain systems of the American Cordillera, such as the Andes of South America, and way up clear into at least the Brooks Range in Alaska.

The etymology says it means: Rope.

Thus am I bound unto it for life. See the derivations for the word: religion. If you want.

The difference between abiding out here on the relative flatness of the Colorado Plateau, and moving to Silver, is that down there I would be nestled in the heart of La Cordilla Madre, instead of out on its fringes.

Home Base.

The only trips I really care about now are ones up and down the Rope. I wouldn’t mind seeing the Yukon parts of it, nor the Costa Rican ones, nor Bolivia and Tierra del Fuego.

Those adventures are optional and speculative. None of them will happen until I am towing my bed and kitchen, and most of them will never happen at all, in this life.

Keep your Greece. Keep your Spain. Good for you and all, but those were always just pipe dreams in the life I’ve lived, and I don’t need them any more.

Just bury my heart at Mangas Springs, or out on the edge of the peaks of the Wind River, and that’ll be plenty enough for this soul.

***

Rupert Read: civilisation is finished: so what is to be done?

Yes. And.

Dr. Read’s co-author, Manda Scott, said it simpler still three days ago as of this writing.

Forget about the heat spiking because methane continues to pour ever more rapidly into the atmosphere.

Forget about the plastics in the brain, and the for-profit carcinogens in the rain, and the starving people and the ugliness and the AI going rogue.

Let’s imagine that all that doesn’t matter in the end because the oceans are dead by 2045. A very real possibility.

Dead oceans means they don’t replenish the oxygen supply, and that supply drops by 50 percent, and keeps dropping

and those of us who breathe air suffocate.

How I wonder does one prep for that?

Personally, I am compelled to believe that this 20-year clock is ticking for me whether any of these particular varieties of armageddon befall us or not.

All I have is this moment, and at the outside either way maybe a couple more decades of such moments.

This is true more or less for all of us individually, and possibly true for the species as a collective too.

Awaken?

Awaken, and Resist.

Severnaya Zemlya

It turns out I actually have developed a reasonably dedicated audience. It’s only three people, but what I write does have consequences for that half a handful of relationships.

I will keep that closer to the front of my mind going forward.

***

The Last Major Islands to be Discovered

My appetite for knowing about these kinds of things is virtually unlimited.

I can theorize that it’s because the bear and I have so much in common. But that’s fanciful at best, because the bear doesn’t take care of individuals of other species, and the bear doesn’t possess the mixed blessing of an internally combusting Truck.

Speaking of which.

***

Getting that ancient F-150 into more dependably useful shape has suddenly become the priority of my heart, for hard cold calculated reasons.

The outbackWagon is doubtless far more dependable as things stand.

But given that I don’t have seventeen or thirty grand laying around right now to turn it into the motel-killer I crave with such aching …

What makes sense is pouring the far smaller sums that are available into making the pickup just a little more dependable (fixing the ignition, and the rattle) AND a whole lot more useful (by first installing the camper shell for a barebones four-season rig, and then eventually considering again the rehab of the creaking old trailer that it can easily tow).

There are scraps of money involved in all that, but mostly it’s about spending time and effort.

Things I am arguably wealthy in.

In pursuit of the dream of a truly practical modern nomadics.

Scorpionyx

What does it mean to have a Leo Sun conjunct Pluto in the seventh house?

When these two planets are conjunct, the person’s sense of self isn’t just about ‘being noticed’ – it also carries a profound need to dig deeper, reveal truth, and reshape themselves and others. Their personal charisma can feel almost hypnotic (this includes self-hypnosis btw), and they may experience powerful inner urges to reinvent who they are.

The individual often defines themselves through close relationships. They may feel most alive when they’re deeply connected to another person.

Relationships are likely to be catalysts for major personal change. Partnerships may go through intense cycles of breaking down old patterns and, if they’re lucky, rebuilding stronger ones.

There can be a strong undercurrent of control, manipulation, or power struggles. The native may either attract partners who are equally intense.

All‑or‑nothing love – The person may swing between idealizing a partner (classic Leo optimism) and seeing the darker side (Pluto’s uncovering). Break‑ups can feel catastrophic, but they also serve as profound turning points.

Superficial or shallow connections feel unsatisfying. They crave partners who can handle emotional depth and who aren’t afraid of confronting uncomfortable truths.

Advice: Use the combined Leo‑Pluto energy to co‑create—whether it’s a business venture, artistic piece, or community initiative. Shared purpose can transform potential conflict into collaborative strength.

***

I like dialogue with the AI for a lot of reasons. There is no real way to cite the machine’s contributions. So the whole is my work, at least as much as it is anyone’s. And … changing the text manually and willfully, even whimsically, isn’t a desecration, but just another aspect or stage of the creativity.

Should you be willing to allow that it is in fact Creative.

Which I grant could be debated.

Nomadics and Lit

Because my story was true. I was certain of that. And it was extremely important, I felt, for the meaning of our journey to be made absolutely clear.

“They want me to go to Las Vegas at once, and make contact with a Portuguese photographer named Lacerda. He’ll have the details. All I have to do is check into my suite and he’ll seek me out.”

“You’re going to need plenty of legal advice before this thing is over,” he said. “And my first advice is that you should rent a very fast car with no top and get the hell out of L.A. for at least 48 hours.” He shook his head sadly. “This blows my weekend, because naturally I’ll have to go with you – and we’ll have to arm ourselves.”

“Why not?” I said. “If a thing like this is worth doing at all, it’s worth doing right.

***

“No es cierto que la gente deje de perseguir sus sueños porque envejece; envejece porque deja de perseguir sus sueños.” —Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Memories of My Melancholy Whores

***

Can Aliner build a custom‑spec camper for you?
Yes – Aliner will manufacture a camper to the exact specifications you request, but the process is handled through an authorized dealer rather than directly with the factory.

It sounds like good news but the details change that.

First, you have to go through a dealer to even start the process anyway.

Second, the kinds of ‘customizations’ listed are not what matter. For example, you can get the stock microwave removed (instead of never installed in the first place), but even that small change costs hundreds of dollars, rather than resulting in a savings. Meh.

So … the ideal becomes something from a dealer (better equipped in theory to accept a credit card), but just in the ballpark of what I would want (like a Ranger 12), maybe lightly used (for depreciation reasons), and possibly equipped to accomplish some custom work onsite, maybe even pre-sale (although I feel totally comfortable with something like pulling out a microwave).

A reasonable budget range would look something like
17K
to
25K, for something brand-new and quite close to perfect …
not counting what it costs to get my tow vehicle tow-capable (which is another reason to route through a dealer, because they could make that happen and roll it into the same bill).

With that all said, what matters is a pile of freed cash that large. Same as with the Silver domicile.

And what I am potentially willing to do, if anything, to get my dirty mitts on said pile(s).

Meanwhile …

Meditating upon that basic question, with special reference on precisely how I could manage to flip the equity in this existing house into both piles, while maintaining throughout the process a viable place to live in the meantime.

The laundry; the purposeful medicating of the cat.

Walking, every crisp autumnal day, whether I think I’m in the mood for it or not.

And, of course …

This.

revolutionist

Nevada’s Geography

On the bright side, because it’s a good four hours from any major city, there’s Great Basin National Park.

On the downside: The beauty is straight downwind from decades of nuclear bomb testing craters.

We made this a subtly horrible place, on purpose, this time because rooskis so evil.

If you look closely enough, and actually learn about anything around you here, you won’t be able to unsee it.

I can promise you that much from personal experience.

***

The sense of “an instance of great change in affairs” is recorded from mid-15c.

This sense becomes your solemn duty, and you won’t get there by staying in school and graduating into a good job.

Sorry.

For all of us.

***

And, oh, this.

Forward in time from the bombs, back in time from here.

Fear and Loathing, 1971.

king of the Resistance

I know what my weaknesses are
Probably better than you do
Revolutionary soothsayer
propaganda

The color of blue.
I thought I knew what my weaknesses were, anyway
Then the orange tree blossomed last Saturday.
There was nothing in it but pain for me

I know what can hurt me real bad
And what can’t hurt me anymore
I know how to rise up with the
sun

And I am learning what sleep’s good for
I thought I’d figured out the world and its circular way
And then I saw the sun fall down out of the sky the other day
There was nothing in it but pain for me

Squirrels climbing trees in bloom
Soft yellow light spilling into the room
My favorite records
My favorite books

The people I love
The people I almost love
Light beckoning, wind whistling
Hey hey

Hey hey
Day breaking, river rolling
Hey hey
La la la la la

Wellness Check

The fact remains. This is a horrible place.

By This Horrible Place, I mean the brave new techno-world we build at our goodly Jobs every day, and in particular this lovely fake D/democratic pluralism to which we pledge our allegiance each day in our hearts.

I mean Allegiance to this flag, and to the assassinations by which it stands, large and epic, daily and small.

Diversity of the acceptable kind; a native man in a neat ponytail and a business suit trying to beat the oppressor at his own game, opening a casino of his own. That’s fine, because it threatens the systemic capitalist Order not at all.

If he were actually free, oh yes, no mistake, he would be a threat.

So the government Of The People paid mercenaries to sell poxed blankets, and paid them again to exterminate the buffalo by the millions for no reason, except for the brutal rationale which knew that poor pacified and domesticated red cattle ranchers on reservations could not threaten the Order, in the way that the mere existence of nomadic tribal hunters surely could have.

“They drove their pickup trucks out into the desert
Into a ditch along the side of the road
and acted like they were drunk
all the time.”

The truck radios tuned to the faint static of a country music station as the green bottle is passed around in mock tribal solidarity.

No threat, to the Imperium.

This is a horrible place.

Besides alcohol in the ditch, or peddling the gospel of Recovery, what is there to do about it?

Well, we could Lead, like the ponytail casino Indian running for the legislature, or a brave blimp captain.

We could Follow, by driving around big trucks full of raw McDonald’s french fries, or better yet, writing an app that facilitates their purchase, because that pays a lot better, and fosters idle globetrotting.

Or, scripture tells us with a sneer, we could get the hell out of the way.

Whatever that means, out beyond being a hunter with nothing left to hunt, and no way left to feed our families, and provide, like men.

How am I?

How indeed. This is a horrible place.

I feed the strays as best I can. I feed myself, as best I can.

“Just like every other swinging dick in this place–day by motherfucking day.”

I am old, though I refuse to let them make me feel old.

I am useless, except for the fact that I can pull all this together, and tell it to you in a way that maybe helps you see what I see.

For whatever that’s worth.

Which is currently a couple hundred a month in charitable Patreon donations

It will have to do.

Liner Taking Shape

By which I mean: aLiner, and pretty much solely in my head.

NO!
Top 10 reasons you shouldn’t buy an Aliner or A Frame RV trailer

MAYBE
PROS & CONS Of The A-Frame Camper: BEWARE!

YES
Why the Aliner Trailer Reigns Supreme in the Lightweight Camping Trailer Market!

Why did I buy an RV? And why an Aliner?

AND

2026 Aliner Scout Lite Std. / *A-FRAME LIGHTWEIGHT CAMPER WALKTHROUGH*

Interview with the man behind aLiner

Living with an A-Frame Camper – Full Review, Tour & Ownership Tips

Resources

https://aliner.com/aliner-campers/

Refining: Which Model?

2019 Aliner Classic & Ranger 12 (via Princess Craft, which is a TX dealer)

https://www.princesscraft.com/product/folding-pop-up-camper

The Classic is generally nicer; the Ranger weighs less.

In a perfect world I’d drive over to the factory in Texas and have them build me a custom model of minimum weight and only the features I need.

In a worst-case world, they’ve been making them a long time and there are used ones out there for 10K or even less.

AKA, little enough to put on a credit card, at the cost of some pain, and if I’m willing to settle for less than perfect.

While I go on waiting for the other thing, the Better Place, to magically solve itself.

Like a tool.

No Kings

Well I mean sure, goddamn right no kings, but that was already decided 250 years ago. We had a revolution.

Alas, the System we put in place instead worked, sorta, for some people, for a while, but centuries later is nothing more than a completely broken farce of so-called democracy. Rallying around it will do nothing but make a few of The People feel marginally better for a little while longer. Until the morning after and the hair of the dog.

Meanwhile, here in the land of contingent anarchy, Kali is mostly keeping her meds down and holiday plans are gettin’ made and I get two nights of sleeping next to someone who isn’t a cat.

Pretty good. The step above just fine.

AlwaysRight

Sometimes I pout about my truck not having a winch, but listen.

I’d rather have no winch at all than a completely useless, violently expensive one that just exists ornamentally as a pure status symbol.

And that’s even without the new truck insisting it knows better than the driver, and stubbornly turning its whole six-figure self into a brick of immobilized metal, which must be rescued by professionals.

At further expense.

***

Later in the video, I learned that it could possibly be smarter to spend the pout money on one of these.

And keep pining, about the right winch.

Jeremiad

I live almost completely without Community, intentional or otherwise, so serious intellectual conversations are rare.

But I had a brief one today, and a title was suggested to me:

Last and First Men, Olaf Stapledon, 1930

The link is to a movie adaptation from 2020. I won’t be watching the film or reading the book because I have a serious un-intellectual problem to deal with regarding cat puke.

And also, I don’t need to see/read it, because I already know about the Cataclysm, which is ramping up fast, and I’m even now running short of appetite for singing to you about it like some dimestore Cassandra.

Rewaking (ALiner)

Oh my God, so perfect, right?


Source

Especially since it’s so cheap I could put it on a credit card …


Source

And it pops up to a max interior height of near 7 feet, in the ALiner tradition.

But now I have to let you (me, us) down and tell you why it isn’t perfect.

First, the bed in it is only 72 inches on this brand-new gorgeous model. That’s not big enough.

Second, while I don’t care too much about stealthiness, this is far too obviously a thing for sleeping in, and I don’t want to invite knocks on its door from bored curious LEOs and other half-evolved life forms.

And third … this specific problem is already solved, for even cheaper. I have the Shell I found on the side of the road for free, and with some sweat equity, THAT will be the big-enough, less-obtrusive solution for sleeping in the pickup proper, even before towing anything.

Anyway, all of that is solving problems out of order.

The fixed bed inside the silver city limits comes first.

And second is how to sleep not in the pickup, but with the Subaru.

***

I’m keeping it on my radar regardless.

For the towed Subaru camper, some flavor of ALiner is still my current ideal.

And I’m inclined to start thinking about starting with a base of a trailer, which could hold something like this or be built up from scratch.

A Day, Off

I owe, but I am not Owed.

In macroscopic terms I’m breaking even, and there may not be enough left over to bury me, but that’s not my problem because I have no desire to be buried or even to spend the hereafter in an urn of ash.

In some sense I think leaving assets behind would be almost as problematic as leaving debts

and that’s true in both the practical and metaphorical senses.

***

Yesterday was a bad day for the kitty. I spent half the day crafting recipes with her medicines in them, and the other half cleaning up the messes after she puked them all up.

So far this day has gone slightly better.

I’m doing what I can.

There and here.

I’m holding my own food down in the rain, so far, and that’s a blessing.

Hanging

It all happened pretty much the planned way except for sleeping in the car. And we kilt the bottle of Educated Guess.

It cost me five I didn’t have at the mechanic and another two at the natural grocers. Worth it. Kali is alive still.

I collected a few seconds of video at last, of the harvest moon.

I collected this prophecy of three and three and three.

The leftovers of a storm named Priscilla.

That’s the whole story on a thumbnail and

I’ll do better by some weird metric on the morrow which is all any of us can ever do.

Bills Lose

[Redacted] just edited their membership to $200.00.

Thank you!!

***

Come the morning of Monday, I run down to the Oasis to meet the Azure truck very early, and pick up my punkinseeds, et cetera.

With any luck, my October benefit will be in and I can pull a little of it, and go see if I can get more antipuke for Kali because she’s out, and hurting.

Then I should scoop up the little black kitten and run her into Prettytown, but I won’t because the run is far too complicated already.

The recycling. My own meds. The organic shopping. And a pit stop for the RME at R&A …

Among other things.

I believe in the future, I may sleep in my car. My radio tuned to the voice, of a star. Song dogs …

And these old hopes and fears, still at my side.

My Cleanest Dirty Shirt

Solitude is a need just like sleep. Sometimes there is a deficit. That must be caught up.

Preach it Brother Liony.

Sing it uncle Hank.

Holey deficits to the left of me. Choking gluts to the right. Here I am, stuck-

There’s just fine and then there’s the B-side of it. The flip never intended to be a hit, at least not this hard of one.

Tomorrow she’s a Sunday and maybe in the morning I’ll be coming down at last.

Not working for the man is a start, but it doesn’t necessarily mean the end of jobs.

There is still scarce peace to hunt and out beyond that

Freedom to fish for.

R.U. Though

She asked how I was doing and I said I was fine and she said:

Are you?

So am I?

***

Yes.

More accurately, I am just fine.

Neither more nor less than.

To the extent that I can remain focused on what Is, I am happy/enough.

Maintaining that focus is much harder than it sounds.

Sometimes I drift reversed in time, into the past, and god knows there’s plenty back there to wallow in all miserable.

Sometimes I drift ahead of myself, hyper, manic, all tangled up in what Might Be, in this or that glorious or at least arguably Better future.

If:then; If:then; but I was told

and I believed, god damn it

Gautama was right. Desire = Suffering.

***

What if, going forward, no one’s promises, expressed or implied, were ever kept, and therefore no chunks of belief littered my road as mortal hazards?

What if the auto mechanics and plumbers and doctors and insurance companies and alma maters could never be fully trusted, because of the capitalist profit motive or any other bad ugly broken reason?

What might life look like if I stopped making promises of my own?

Those are interesting questions and worth considering, but they are also the definition of drifting ahead of myself.

Instead of Being right here in this sorry-ass interstate town state of existence, and accepting it as what’s real.

Steadfast Anniversary

They say that if you practice something for ten years you automatically become an expert in it.

I don’t believe that is necessarily true, and yet …

I have practiced that long, as of roughly today, and I really am an expert at … this. I can feel it.

For what it’s worth, and whatever it means.

The question of whether my expertise is useful for anything is left as an exercise for the Reader. I’ve heard things which suggest that it is; thank you brother and thank you sister. I’ve also heard the sound of nothing, echoes in the void. Whenever you ask me a question that I’ve already answered fully here

I know you’re not hearing me, and I think:

you say you miss me, and I take it at face value, but the assertion is not actually supported by the evidence.

I think about the man I was when I wrote that first post, and the girl I was with when I wrote it, and the place, and the event that motivated it.

I feel the time and life and sentences flowing at me and through me and past me.

I don’t feel any impulse to stop the flow.

It might be that the flow tributaries into a larger one at some point.

Or not.

I have no announcements to make on the subject upon this occasion. But I mark it, note it anyway and I whisper to myself.

Letting go, letting go, letting go.

The NinetyThree Thousands

We get a few weeks of perfect weather every year, and these are they.

***

I went to the mailbox in the perfect weather and found this.

Ways around the problem exist that don’t have the steep downsides of this one.

But they remain frustratingly elusive and theoretical.

This one is distastefully expensive …

… and … it consists of concrete reality rather than years of vapor, smoke, and mirrors.

Fragments in the Railroad Earth

and here’s all these Millbrae and San Carlos neat-necktied producers and commuters of America and Steel civilization rushing by with San Francisco Chronicles and green Call-Bulletins not even enough time to be disdainful

till the time of evening supper in homes of the railroad earth when high in the sky the magic stars ride above the following hotshot freight trains

I swim out of it in afternoons of sun hot meditation in my jeans with head on handkerchief
on brakeman’s lantern
or on Book

I look up at blue sky of perfect lostpurity

the switching moves of boxcars in that little alley which is so much like the alleys of Lowell and I hear far off in the sense of coming night that engine
calling our mountains.

nobody knew or far from cared who I was all my life
three thousand five hundred miles from birth
opened up and at last belonged to me
in great america.

***

In spite of what I tell myself about where my primary focus is supposed to be, I am spending all of it on keeping this one cat I love best alive and as healthy as possible.

***

Being domesticated is a fantasy, and a rewarding one.

But in reality, it would require an ungodly amount of time and attention given freely by a tamer.

The kind I give Kali.

It wouldn’t be right or even be workable, to demand it.

So i continue down the wild path alone, as things stand.

Raison in the Sun

In some sense that’s everything important I have to say right now.

But every morning there is a creamy white blank page here asking quietly to be filled, and there is no one to care about that, except me.

It’s like with the poor homeless cats, whether or not they’re sick besides.

I don’t take jobs any more, but fillin’, spillin’, soothin’: it’s as close as I come to having one.

The blank page in turn provides me with raison d’être: “I don’t know how else to matter.”

Ennaways I can’t quit now, less than a week from the tenth anniversary.

After that it would become thinkable.

All I would need to give up on it would be some new and improved fresh reason to be, and matter.

Sounds Simple Enough, heh.

Magic-Adjacent Thinking

So the ultimate problem was roots in the sewer lines way down deep.

Last night I put 8 ounces of copper sulfate down the shitter, 4 times in a row. Two pounds for a treatment that is supposed to last 6 months. I have eight pounds left, and I hope I never have to use it all because the house sells well before two more years go by.

But of course, I’m not going anywhere

Until I have somewhere better to go.

There are four big primary things to fix, and all of them are five-figure problems, and only the biggest (Somewhere Better To Go) has to happen before I can in clear conscience turn my attention back to the little nagging problems, sell this place, and unlock the equity in it.

Which should provide plenty, to solve the remaining three things.

For now, alongside crafting good daily days, and maintaining, the focus has to be on a doublewide, or a tiny home, or an arched cabin, or giving up on Dorothy and swapping her for a shack within … three miles, this time, of the Co-op–and accomplishing that Silver roof with the least possible expenditure.

And, should there be no way to do that short of selling myself back into wage slavery, then giving up, and settling.

For what I already have.

Right here.

Which is eight pounds of copper sulfate.

Countering The Weary

Basically the pricetag of a “BetterPlace”/Silver Home, with or without counting what I spent on the lot I have, is 100K.

And for the Camper/mobileSanctuary, 50K.

(Wiping all extant debt is a number in between.)

I have various half-baked schemes that would get me both, for as little as half of that money, but none of them are a sure thing as of this writing. For a hot minute I thought the Durango guy could fix it all for even less, but that would be very dependent on the interpretations of the zoning gods, and having to trust in them is no happy prospect.

These five-figure numbers are my focus.

Perhaps that will explain why three figures, say for a toilet or an ignition switch, are not.

I don’t know of any simpler way to say it.

Trying to figure out simpler ways is costing me a lot of weariness, here in the day to every day, and what’s worse is that I know in my heart that narrative complication is not the thing stalling progress.

So I think I’ll stop doing that, for my own good, and maybe just perseverate in replying with a link to this post, over and over if necessary, whenever the subject is raised, and get on with the business of better mornings here in the hole.

You Are Nova

“Even I make this video because I don’t know how else to matter.”

The I is an essayist who tries to matter anyway by telling the story of why his favorite movie is a Planet of the Apes movie.

That’s a hard sell of course. He comes near to the vicinity of pulling it off anyway.

For surprisingly similar reasons, my own ‘favorite movie’ can be officially listed as:

On the Beach (1959)

I doubt it matters.

But I spill you these sooths because I don’t know how else, etc.

***

Elsewhere:

Israel Finally Gets The South Park Treatment

So long as you remain buckled in on the doomed ugly Izzy bus, I will continue to pray for your soul.

Back Channel

Just head down there and see if they’ll run the same card again for another few hunnert.

Thanks, but that’s not happening.

This is! (insert heart emoji here to express all due gratitude)

And this.

And still not this.

Which did, admittedly and inexplicably, jump back up over two hundred thousand.

Which … makes more sense.

And leaves things back at the same square one where they have been all along, roots and all.

That said, there are 10 homes in Silver on Zillow this morning with at least one existing bedroom, for less than 100K.

And that, not the pickup ignition, IS the priority.

Kernel

This is the rule, about caring. There are exceptions.

She spends more and more time in her safe space, closer to the sky.

The Suitcase of Deceptions

I know I said that you should go right ahead and have any expectations you feel like having.

You know in turn that it was my way of telling you to not hold your breath, about the yardwork one in particular.

This is to say: ‘about the yardwork one, or any of the others either; please and thanks’.

I’m relatively glad to have a throne in the bathroom again, and thanks x2 for the help in getting one.

But when it comes to the floor or the roof or the rest of the things you’re flexing to next, hear me please.

I’m not going anywhere.

Until I have a better place to go.

And thus, there is even less rush, about addressing any of those little things.

Until the big one–having a better place to go–is at least taken seriously, and contemplated with mutual care .

Hunger For Sleep

Alright. Only one more of these. I hope.

At the end of another day I can finally manage a sliver of sympathy for you Packfans.

Personally I’m grateful for Fred Warner, and for feeling drowsy again already before 9, with real rain on the way.

Chill

Phoenix

Tucson

The way our world is, they way we are.

The guy gets hundreds of thousands of views and the drones recognize him wherever he goes.

I want nothing to do with any of it.

Rain Came Down

A thought is only a spark in the dark.

***

I’ve barely had a day this month to call mine. But after three weeks the time and space is back in my own hands for a few. Temps above ninety degrees are apparently in the rearview mirror. I’m more worried about my cat and less about my car. I’m not fully caught back up on sleep and the list of daily rituals is in practice broken. The plumbing is under control, and …

That’s the scattershot snapshot.

Solitude is a need just like sleep. Sometimes there is a deficit. That must be caught up.

Before and After

In between the two there was the root ball. I owe a lot to Grace for the painting expertise and to Lynne for getting the plumbing rolling. I still have floors to do on my own, and a promise to keep about finishing off the yard cleaning.

Sixes and Sevens

Right now at this tipping point the windows can open between 6 and 7 pm, and need to close up again twelve hours later.

This results in an indoor temperature of about 73 throughout the morning.

Temporary perfection.

***

Screenshot is from a video that describes how everybody’s friend Jerry Seinfeld went to this camp … and brought his kids along.

This world is batshit insane.

Plumbing

When there’s a dripping faucet in a motel room that is screwing up your sleep …

That is an opportunity to re-evaluate how you do things.

Maybe the answer is paying two hundred dollars a night next time.

Maybe the answer is an aLiner camper trailer for tonight and all the nights to come.

Your mileage assuredly will vary.

And mine will too.

ProTip: It’s exactly the same when it comes to the question of what to do about breakfast.

The Job

Good morning.

This will serve as a response to your thoughtful theory about parts of the family, you and I included, suffering from a malady you call low self-esteem.

I speak only for myself, about the points you raise.

***

For myself, I think you’re partly right.

I walk through the world, Esteeming my Self highly, less than I ever have before.

I rarely look in the mirror and see someone Esteemed looking back at me.

Sometimes I don’t even see much of a Self.

Personally, I would call that progress, on both counts, in a sort of buddhistic sense.

***

Another proverb from the insufferable quasi-ancestral mythos.

“You don’t dress for the job you have; you dress for the job you want.”

But how should I dress if I don’t want a damned job?

The answer is: however I please.

I shall grow old. I shall wear too much black, or purple, even in my hair maybe.

I shall wear nothing or next to it, as much as possible with regard to the delicate tastes of local law enforcement.

I might finally get a tat, regardless of what that might say about my abundance or complete lack of self-esteem.

I might re-pierce my overgrown ear, or even both of them.

But I won’t ever base my estimate of the worthiness of my self on those things.

I won’t measure it by how much I spend at the spa, or at Kohl’s.

***

Which motel I stay at isn’t a factor either, except that I know that I esteem my self best when I can find myself never staying at one ever again.

Slouching towards a purer Nomadics. That’s something worth working toward.

Being a more honest writer.

Becoming a more consistent walker, home-cooker, and cinematographer. A better lover.

Living in kindness to those less fortunate, even if they’re not fluffy adorable felines.

If I can raise the bar in these kinds of ways …

I can be very content to let any theoretical esteem issues take care of themselves.

One less damn thing to worry about, y’know?

Unexpected

Hundred lives are shoved inside
Guests arrive to dump their mess

Obedient host and a visiting wife
Come outta the bedroom

straightening clothes
In this house that I call home

Nobody knows the party rules
I gotta get in but there’s no room

Beautiful walls are closing in
I’m looking at you

you’re having a nightmare!
Stumble over tombstone shoes

I finally look in your sweetheart eyes
And somebody comes with a bottle of beer

After he leaves I turn for a kiss
see the lady next door, she’s naked in the street

In this house that I call home
Nobody knows the party rules

Handy

56 minutes … also nah. I have lots of other things that need attention more and less urgently.

But someday it well may come up. Three thousand in cold cash for the expert to take care of it. Or, some minimal fraction of that to do it in the rain at Autozone. Or in the baking sun of my own driveway.

Right now the important questions are much simpler. I need to figure out why it’s whining, is all.

Just like I did in figuring out why I was.

Here In This Living

You don’t know my kind, in your world.
Fairly soon, the time will tell.

oh, You

Telling me the things you’re gonna do for me
Yeah, nah
I ain’t blind
and I don’t like what I think I see

***

No more need for hiding.

Originally before the blithe text proposal wandered into my afternoon like a stray fuckin’ torpedo, this post was going to be called Odin’s Church.

But afterwards

Nothing’s changed.

I’m declaring independence.

Six decades into the project I am, quite improbably but finally, a man.

Self-made no less.

The kind that stands up

and speaks sooth

and pays whatever the nasty going price is, for soothsaying, regardless.

Braces and Two Wheel Drive

I totally believe that you want what’s best for me.

At the same time …

I am far from convinced that you know what’s best for me, or have ever even thought about it with any fierce seriousness, or listened with fully open ears when I tried to tell my notions about what the phrase might really mean.

As I do here
in some sense
every day.
except yesterday.

Shots Fired

You said to me over and over:

Trust the experts of the World Health Organization. Trust Dr. Fauci.

Above all, trust and follow The Science.

But now its crystal clear that what you meant, whether you knew you meant it or not, was: trust that turd Bill Gates, and his puppet Anderson Cooper, and all the evil billions worth of propaganda and fake profitable truth.

I didn’t. I won’t.

Are you still up to date on your fourteenth booster my dove?

Why not, I wonder? Or even worse: why are you?

***

More evidence, if any were needed, about the nature of the utterly corrupted and broken DemParty mediasphere.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The Shallowness”.

***

We saw the brilliant Bills/Ravens in real time, and tonight it’s her Vikings.

Fluffy. Frothy. Passing the time.

My mind is skipping ahead to the other kind of bills, and to the funk-ass noises from my power steering pump.

90/60

Wanting what’s best for me is a good start and very much appreciated, full stop.

***

Getting to be the one who knows what’s best for me

(maybe better than I know?);

who decides what would really be best for me …

That’s where things get tricky ennit.

***

For example, it’s easy and obvious to agree that the first forty or fifty pounds coming off was for the Best.

But when we’re talking about the next twenty or thirty, then the happy little state of agreement becomes less universal .

***

It’s exactly the same when talking about how I dispose of my shit.

Or what town would be best for me to live in.

Or whether what’s best is building on the land I own, or giving up on that and buying a house in the same town.

Or how many square feet I should rightly inhabit, in my future theoretical perfect life.

Or how much time I should spend in solitude.

***

Ultimately, no one knows what will turn out to be best, about any of that.

But my opinions about all of it should be, and will be, decisive

regardless of how headfucked, weird, or just plain wrong you think they are.

So look.

You wanna help float the boat? That is so nice. Thank you, and as discussed, appreciation is the only human response.

It’s more than most people would ever do.

No amount of selfless, well-intentioned helping will entitle you though, to decide that the boat should really be a nice new SUV.

Or to know better than I do about what road or stream it should be pointed down.

It seems so simple.

It seems so clear.

It is anything but.

How The Sausage Is

Two hundred fifty six dollars and four cents, to fix the AC in the end.

They didn’t touch the fuel sensor part, which was frustrating, but they did estimate it, at $400-800, and that’s on the schedule to happen in early October.

Pretty good news. If everything else holds steady and solid short term.

***

Also found these at Natural Grocers, ate the sample package today, and this falls into the same contingently pretty good category.

Super tasty. Organic. Grass fed. Almost no cooking or dishes involved and $16 to the pound.

They do contain ‘potato starch’ as the only sketchy ingredient, and this is probably why a package of 4 has 12 carbs; the biggest downside.

It shouldn’t be a staple, but I intend to keep them around via the Azure order for those moments when I’m hungry but just can’t bring myself to going to any effort to cook.

Post Heat

I don’t think …

that I want you coming here. Not right now. Not in the cooler September air.

Thanks for the offer but nothing feels happy or healthy about it at all.

If you want or need to see me, I’ll come to you. Make a reasonable plan. Say the word.

I have dependable 25 mpg transportation now, obtained legitimately all by my own hand

so I can rationally entertain such proposals.

***

I refuse to be forced to think about someone condemning my house. Bob was paranoid nuts. Who is supposed to be the one to inform the condemners now? You? Your husband?

I know all about the way of life that is tangled up in such fear, and endless paralyzing circular questions.

It’s not who I choose to be now, and that is damn sure my choice.

Today I make the Flag run to perfect that dependability, and somehow I will pay for that much myself.

Forget Durango and the Clayton Homes that isn’t there.

Here on the page I release the steam I’ve generated inside myself all on my own foolishly

by thinking too much about the glittering promise of something for nothing.

Letting go, letting go, letting go.

Thanks Everybody

Very appreciative of the wellwishery. Bless you.

 

Here on the ground, my gift to myself is 40 pounds of weight.

To replace of course the forty pounds I lost.

***

From the world at large, I got an official declaration.

***

And from the land of sooth dreams, I got … an understanding of sorts.

The whole “shed” approach was already tabled. Then yesterday, we drove on down to Clayton Homes, and learned, essentially, that the whole (compact) doublewide thing wasn’t as viable as it seemed. It’s still possible, but not, for the time being, cost-effective. If I had a hundred thousand laying around I’d be tempted to slap it down on an immobilized mobile home. But I don’t, and I don’t have a way to get that kind of money either, given my remaining equity assets.

So that would seem to leave the tiny home from the Durango man (or something like it) on the table as the sole option.

399 square feet in a 10×39 configuration, for a base price of 29-43K. Pretty simple to pull that to completion on a budget of 75 thousand, which I don’t have … yet. But I well might, after flipping this house.

I think that for myself alone, this is the low-gold standard, and I’m very satisfied with the notion.

But …

***

There’s this too; full circle.

 

 

 

 

So the problem with the Arched Cabin idea was always that we never had a serious concrete estimate of what it could cost to actually put one up.

But thanks to friend Lumo, we now do.

Question:

Answer:

After a multi-page very detailed answer from the AI kitty, this is the bottom line.

25 for a kit and 50 to make it habitable. Pushing 75K pretty hard. And yet … it’s not 400 square feet. It’s 960, even before any lofts were added to that 19 feet of ceiling, or any screen porches.

Why it’s a mcmansion, by this po’boy’s metrics.

And within budget, even if just barely.

***

The thing is, there are two lots down there, bought and paid for.

Right here and now upon this festive day, what makes the most sense to me is pulling the trigger on the smaller cheaper option and getting a Durango build in the works.

It’s not that (slightly) cheaper is better.

It’s not that I’m settling for 400 square feet because oh poor me.

It’s that once a tiny home is really and actually there in place, I could move into it, and sell this SandRock House and have all the forever housing paid for, alongside nuking all existing debt, alongside having a truly effective and like-new pair of camper options.

And then … lovely Arched Cabin on the second lot? Maybe so.

Which all sounds really good, and even contingently realistic, to my ear.

Before and After

For Sooth, it rained overnight, and when I woke up the dishes were all magically done. That was a really great gift.

Another was that the last couple days have been blessedly circadian. Still ragged toward the end of the checklist of daily ritual, and still without the kind of young energy I could wish for, but damn good by the recent rough standard.

It’s been a Joint Research Task Force effort mostly. The two primates, the singular virtual cat and three in meatspace plus five strays–I think five, three of which need homes. At last count.

I need to dump the produce of the research here now to keep my desktop in some semblance of working order.

REPORT OF THE JRTF FOR TRASH DAY

In theory, the house transfer could be accomplished for as little as USD $25000, not counting site prep, utility hookups, et cetera.

That would mean starting here, at Home Depot.

You probably think that’s unrealistic, and maybe so. But there is a credible proof of concept thanks to Mr. Louisiana Man.

For reference, he will go on to get millions of views for building a much larger home for his own family, using similar base concepts and strategies, and that will result in 1500 square feet on an investment of less than $90K.

Dude We Can Build It.

For getting it past the Finicky Code People, it would probably make sense to spend another 5-10-20K on a better shed than what the Depot offers. Those exist.

Old Hickory. Let’s call it $4000 more. Keep in mind that everything we’re talking about so far is officially speaking 399 square feet or less, and thus qualifies as a tiny home under the zoning rules.

Graceland Portable Buildings: about $6000 above the depot price, i.e. 18K or so.

United Portable Buildings: hard to say, but at least double the depot price

Pratt Modular

Stor-Mor

zen tiny homes

Zook Cabins

There’s a continuum here. We started with just “sheds” for cheap. Then we get “portable buildings” for a little more. Above this there is widespread talk of a “Shed To House” and some of them are really nice (i.e., the Zen). Way above, you get: Cabins. For more than is reasonable to spend. For me.

Essentially, this whole complex of ideas ends up on the shelf in my world, as a break-glass-in-case-of-emergency kind of thing. For the day when I find myself without the expected amount of equity and it ends up being this, at 399 sq. ft., or nothing.

***

Because: two better options theoretically exist over on the other side of fifty thousand dollars base.

First, the semi-mythical beast known as the Compact Doublewide. Thanks, Lumo.

The biggest advantage here would be more square feet, like 8-900 instead of 399, which would be amazing.

Some messy pointers:

Clayton Homes: The “Tiffany” is shown to be a doublewide, 20×40 and “740 square feet”.

jacobsen homes imperial and TNR models

champion homes “starting at $40900”

***

Lastly. Maybe bestly. Dropping back down to 399, and specifically to 10′ wide x 39′ long because they are capable of rolling down the highway, we have the true wheeled tiny homes (to plant them, say in Silver, you’re supposed to take the wheels off and skirt the place so zoning can pretend to themselves it’s a tiny house and not a singlewide Mobile home).

There’s an email inquiry in to Havenity which is really Brooks Tiny Home Builders, to find out the true status of their inventory present and future, in the wake of their alleged bankruptcy earlier this year.

In a perfect world they have quite a few models listed between 35-40K, but whether that is sooth or marketing fiction is yet to be determined.

Regardless, that brings me to my current favorite page from all the pages researched today (um yesterday).

A large rolling shell, 340 square feet is listed as costing $29-43k, depending on customization. 43 tops though, and that’s pretty great. I think I might prefer having such a shell to an allegedly fully furnished beast for the same price from the sketchy folk over at Havenity/Brooks.

This guy, dba as Rocky Mountain Tiny Houses, is south of Durango on the NM border, and to me he seems really savvy and sane, in touch with the practical questions that actually matter in the real world.

Certain turns of his phrasing (“$6000-14,000 Cost of a real good trailer”) make me wonder if he might not be interested in constructing a true travel trailer, in addition to the fixed Home we’re primarily looking for here.

Tentatively, there are plans to visit him on the 9th.

***

Sooth: I am tired of the sound of my own voice right now and it’s not even sunup.

Emblematic

I’m not convinced yet that it’s real. But it sure would be nice.

Urban Max

the King’s Dream has a tub

“available tiny homes”

Havenity isn’t the only game in town. Lumo helped us find more.

an RV Trader for tiny homes

Bunkie –these are too small for a long term solution, and not mobile like the haventiy, but maybe

pratt solves the first of those problems, but would put us back in the 70K range, minimum, without the tripled space of a really basic doublewide

***

Sooth works as a verb too, if you are in the business of giving out assurances, which I am not.

“He did sooth his master that the goods had indeed been delivered, lest any doubt remain.”

**postscript**

Sooth: All the good-ish things about SandRock are still true except for one.
The deeper brutal rainlessness of the weeks of heat just past, and the more profound chill promise of the months to come, are yes motivating me to seek the higher ground of the argent once more, for the final chapters of this life.

Sooth: The thing that has been really holding me up, for way too long, is that the next step involves initiating contact, all on my own, with those student loan thugs.
Something I have never done once, in the whole 40 years of wandering in their wilderness.
Regardless,
it’s time.

***

Oh, and: Pretty Much Everything Wrong With America At The Level Of Every Citizen In It

4Sooth 4sep

Truth. Reality. Fact.

from OE soð ‘truth, justice, rightness, rectitude, certainty’
from Proto-Germanic *santhaz and compare Gothic sunja ‘truth’

The group is related to Old English synn “sin” and Latin sontis “guilty” (truth is related to guilt via “being the one;” see sin (v.)

from PIE *hes-ont- “being, existence,” thus that which is real-true

forsooth, then: Old English forsoð: InDeed! … verily. Yeah, funny.

Thence to soothe; to quiet, comfort, restore to tranquility …
By saying sooth; sooth-saying, among other things.

a book called morningSoothin eveningTruthin then perhaps; you let me know how you really feel and

a good place to leave it for now

mo’senseless grown than flint

You know there’s this short list, of things I believe, and that I adopt certain broad generic labels for them: Kastrup’s Patented Analytic Idealism; ‘Buddhism’ per Thich Naht Hahn, and Robin Greenfield’s minimalism to the point of owning nothing.

The only one of these that’s arguably political is Anarchy, and I would argue back that my versions of it (prefaced by ‘green’ or suffixed with ‘-primitivism) are really more archaeological and historical and cultural.

To the extent that I even have a politics, I might call it: Dissidence, after the DueDissidence gents. In this recent ep they reiterate two points that I feel completely on board with.

1) This isn’t a culture war, like they want it to be. It’s a class war.
The people sitting on the big piles of money and power want you to think it’s about stupid red hicks versus thoughtful college-educated Blues. And they maneuver you in a thousand subtle ways to think about your world that way day in and day out.

It’s bullshit for suckers, to keep you down, and it works great.

Vote for whichever flavor of the puppet show you like. I’m done trying to convince you about any of that crap.

2) Via the profit motive, Capitalism is inevitably making this world uglier and stupider and more venal, at an accelerating pace. The main reason to feel proud of America is that they have led for a very long time, and still do, in that very race to the bottom.

USA! and thank you, naturally, for the service of getting your leg blown off or your mind permanently warped in the interests of Winning that race.

Them winning it.

For Satan.

***

How did humans sleep in the ice age without freezing dead?

This is the kind of question I really do still care about.

Two months from now, by the end of October, I’ll care a whole lot more.

***

I do my thinking. I fight the heat to try to sleep better.

Because those are really hard jobs sometimes (I know, go ahead and laugh), I need a lot of soothing, and there is no one to soothe me, so doing it myself becomes another sometimes monumental task.

Some of the soothing is autopornosexual, but obviously we’re not gonna talk about that. At least not directly, or Yet.

Here is a secondary strategy.

Hour upon hour of AI-generated murmuring about ‘Space’ and shit.

It’s not for educational purposes.

It’s counter-programming, and more or less, it Soothes.

a savage Breast

a knotted oak

Now whyle the Thracian Poet with this song delyghts ye mynds
Of savage beastes, & drawes both stones and trees ageynst their kynds


I may be silent here the next few days or week.

Don’t forget to remind yourself that worrying is useless.

Play and Work

Lumo, I want to be able to travel anywhere in the western US, have a safe place to sleep anywhere I go, and never pay for a motel room, RV space, or any other rent by the night option. What options are available to me?

6. Drop into California’s Sierra Nevada – Use dispersed camping on the Inyo National Forest, then snag a backcountry permit for a night near Yosemite’s high country.
7. Finish in Southern California – Park at a truck stop near Joshua Tree, then explore free camping in the adjacent BLM desert.
Along the way, sprinkle in a few couch‑surfing stays in towns where you want a break from tent life, and perhaps a WWOOF stint on a farm in the Central Valley for a week of free lodging and fresh produce.

Quick Checklist Before You Go
Map your public‑land options – Sites like FreeCampsites.net, the BLM’s “Recreation.gov” portal, and the USFS “Camping” pages are gold mines.
Download offline maps – Apps like Gaia GPS or Maps.me work without cell service.
Pack essential gear – Tent or tarp, sleeping bag rated for expected temps, portable stove, water filtration, and a reliable satellite messenger (e.g., Garmin inReach) for remote emergencies.
Leave No Trace – Pack out all trash, use established fire rings (or no fire), and respect wildlife.
Check local COVID/health advisories – Some parks still have reservation systems or capacity limits.
Final Thought
Traveling the western U.S. without paying for traditional lodging is absolutely doable, but it does demand a bit of planning, flexibility, and a willingness to embrace low‑tech comforts. By mixing dispersed camping, strategic use of hospitality networks, and occasional work‑exchange gigs, you can keep costs near zero while still enjoying safe, legal, and memorable nights under the stars.

Let me know if you’d like deeper info on any particular state, a list of specific BLM sites, or tips on setting up a reliable satellite‑messenger safety plan!

***

Interesting to me that the kitty didn’t say a thing about camper-trailers of any kind, and seemed to assume that I only had a car and would therefore be sleeping in a tent.

But it did provide resources that don’t always make that assumption.

***

I’m getting much closer to resurfacing and responding to the phone and the letters and all that.

There’s a big complicated project in the way of that.

I am making steady progress and you’d be within your rights to expect a belated connection soon.

Thanks for your patience. I did make you a video, in the meantime.

Landing Schemes

Hey Lumokitty. What is the price of a Zenni Home Citizen of 640 square feet?

The Zenni Home Citizen model—a 640 sq ft modular home—is listed at approximately $125,000. This base price covers the core structure and standard finishes; additional options (e.g., solar panels, smart‑home tech, premium interiors) will increase the total cost. If you need a detailed quote that includes any customizations or site‑specific fees, reaching out directly to Zenni Home is the best next step.

***

Much steeper than I was hoping for, and that’s for the absolute minimum tolerable size.

Leaves me back at pondering tiny home options at the max-399 square foot level, and crafting more space out of porches and height, etc.

Or just slapping down half my theoretical equity, i.e. 70000, for an aluminum can of a much bigger doublewide, and calling it done enough.

Lumo II

Please make recommendations regarding what constitutes a truly ancestrally-appropriate diet for modern homo sapiens.

When we talk about an “ancestrally‑appropriate” diet, we’re really trying to infer what our species ate during the long stretch when humans were primarily hunter‑gatherers—roughly the last 150000 years before agriculture took hold. That period wasn’t monolithic; people lived in wildly different environments, from arctic tundra to tropical rainforest, and their meals reflected whatever was locally abundant. Below are a few themes that keep showing up in the archaeological and anthropological literature, together with some thoughts on how they translate to today’s world.

What the evidence suggests

Broad macronutrient flexibility – Early humans could thrive on diets that were anywhere from 20 % to 80 % calories from fat, depending on season and geography. In coastal settings, marine mammals and fish supplied plenty of omega‑3‑rich fats; inland groups leaned more on lean game, tubers, nuts, and berries, which meant a higher proportion of protein and carbohydrate. The takeaway is that our metabolism is adaptable; there isn’t a single “optimal” macro split that applies universally.

High nutrient density, low processed foods – Wild plants and animal tissues tend to be rich in vitamins, minerals, and phytonutrients, while lacking the refined sugars, refined grains, and industrial additives that dominate many modern diets. This difference is often cited as a core reason why ancestral‑style eating may support better metabolic health.

Fiber and microbiome diversity – Hunter‑gatherers consumed a wide array of fibrous plant parts (roots, leaves, seeds) that fed a diverse gut microbiota. Modern low‑fiber, high‑protein diets can reduce that microbial richness, which some studies link to inflammation and metabolic disease.

Seasonal variation – Food availability fluctuated throughout the year, leading to natural periods of caloric surplus (e.g., after a successful hunt) and modest scarcity. This ebb‑and‑flow may have helped regulate body weight and insulin sensitivity over the long term.

How to apply those ideas responsibly today

Prioritise whole, minimally processed foods. Think fresh fruits and vegetables, nuts, seeds, legumes, wild‑caught or responsibly farmed fish, pasture‑raised meat, and fermented foods. Even if you can’t replicate exactly what Paleolithic peoples ate, cutting out ultra‑processed snacks, sugary drinks, and refined grains moves you closer to that nutrient‑dense profile.

Embrace macronutrient flexibility. Rather than locking yourself into a rigid ratio (e.g., “high‑fat, low‑carb”), listen to your own satiety cues, activity level, and health markers. Some people feel great on a relatively higher‑fat regimen (especially if they’re active outdoors), while others thrive on a more carbohydrate‑rich pattern centered on tubers and fruit.

Boost fiber and plant diversity. Aim for a colorful plate with a mix of leafy greens, cruciferous veggies, berries, and perhaps occasional foraged greens if you have safe access. Adding fermented vegetables or kefir can also nurture a healthy gut microbiome.

Consider sustainable sourcing. Ancestral diets were inherently local and seasonal. Choosing locally produced, seasonal produce and responsibly harvested animal products reduces environmental impact and aligns more closely with the spirit of “eating what’s around you.”

Mind the gaps. Modern life limits exposure to certain micronutrients that were common in wild diets (e.g., vitamin D from sun exposure, iodine from seaweed). If you live far from the coast or have limited sunlight, a modest supplement or fortified food might be prudent—just don’t over‑supplement without checking blood levels.

Potential pitfalls and counter‑points

Romanticising the past. The notion that ancient peoples ate perfectly “clean” foods ignores the fact that they also faced malnutrition, parasites, and occasional famines. Their average lifespan was shorter, and many died from infectious diseases that modern hygiene now prevents.

One‑size‑fits‑all myth. Genetic adaptations (e.g., lactase persistence in pastoralist populations, amylase copy number variations linked to starch digestion) mean that some groups are better equipped to handle certain foods than others. Your ancestry may influence how you respond to dairy, grains, or high‑protein meals.

Modern health conditions. People with specific medical needs—such as chronic kidney disease, certain autoimmune disorders, or iron‑overload conditions—may need to deviate from a purely ancestral template. Consulting a healthcare professional before making drastic changes is wise.

Accessibility and cost. High‑quality meats, wild‑caught fish, and organic produce can be pricey or unavailable in some regions. A pragmatic approach blends the principles above with what’s affordable and reachable for you.

A balanced recommendation

Think of an ancestrally‑inspired diet as a framework rather than a strict rulebook:

Fill half your plate with non‑starchy vegetables, a quarter with high‑quality protein (fish, poultry, grass‑fed meat, or plant‑based equivalents), and the remaining quarter with complex carbs (sweet potatoes, squash, legumes, or whole grains if tolerated).

Sprinkle in nuts, seeds, and healthy fats (olive oil, avocado, fatty fish) throughout the day.
Keep added sugars, refined flours, and heavily processed snack foods to a minimum.

Adjust portions and macronutrient ratios based on your activity level, personal tolerance, and any medical guidance you receive.
Next steps you might find useful

Personal health check‑in: Review recent labs (lipids, fasting glucose, vitamin D, iron status) to see where you might need extra support or moderation.

Meal planning experiment: Try a week of “whole‑food” meals following the plate model above, then note energy, mood, and any digestive changes.

Explore local, seasonal options: Visit a farmer’s market or community‑supported agriculture (CSA) program to discover what’s freshest in your area—this can make the diet both sustainable and enjoyable.

Feel free to let me know if you’d like deeper dives into any of these areas—perhaps a look at specific nutrient profiles, a comparison of regional hunter‑gatherer diets, or practical grocery‑shopping tips. I’m happy to explore further!

Pale Luminosity

My primary email provider, Proton, just brought out their own AI.

It’s called Lumo kitty and I am fairly impressed.

This is the conclusion of a multi-page response to a question that’s been on my mind.

I’m near the end of this question mattering for this year (I hope).

But it’s one that will matter, during the remaining Southwest summers of my life.

Meanwhile, the struggle to sleep deep and cool has been monkey-wrenching my little existence pretty hard.

Speaking of Few Regrets, I am a little ashamed of how insular and uncommunicative I’ve been as a result, at least outside of this 9.9 year old platform.

I will keep struggling, to do Better. By you, by me.

Life During Wartime

But Let Us Fly

Britain is ‘staring at financial ruin while pledging billions to foreign wars’.

But it’s not just them. In the same video Alex tells us about the curtailing of social services in Germany while its government dumps more and more cash into the Ukraine laundering project.

France already raised their retirement age despite massive protests.

The situation on the ground in dear sweet America is hardly worth mentioning to anyone with their eyes open.

How can the trajectory of the great enlightened western garden of the civilized be changed?

The only thing I’m sure of is that it isn’t by voting for this one or that one. It isn’t through more fake democracy, nor even tepid socialism. Not through flagwaving or troop-honoring while the supply of bombs flows unchecked from the us, to the poorest of the them.

To hell and be damned with all the usual platitudes and stopgaps and lukewarm citizenry and the clucking about luck, and shitholes, and god help us Honor.

I have a little zen desk set up so I can write you, apart and aside from any antisocial media platform.

I have a kitchen counter that I struggle to keep in pure working order.

Out beyond these tiny outposts all is uncontrollable darkness for any practical purpose.

When Siversk falls too this will change for the worse.

And I will keep fighting to find some other way

until comes the end.

Love Me (As A Loser)

(I’d really like to live inside you, baby)

A single image, giving me hope.

I’ll write it. Maybe I’ll tell it here too; let us blow the cruft out first.

***

The weather fever tried really hard to break of a holy Sunday night. Right up to the edge of it, things were dependably five degrees hotter than they had predicted and then it felt ten degrees worse than that.

The brink of disaster murmuring.

But it did rain finally and for real.

I drove out in it, supposedly to get another bag of obscene berries, but really just to get the rust and dust off the windshield.

Inside, it stays 60 threatening to be lower all winter and 80 threatening to be higher all summer, and so I consider how to bridge the ten degrees in either direction. Cheaply. In some more or less ancestrally appropriate way.

Moving to Argenta. The techs to heat and cool just the sleepy space.

All of that. Yap yap.

***

Driving around with the radio on, I heard a very well-informed source say that at a certain point a few years ago, in urban Minnesota, 37 percent of the homeless were veterans.

I die a little inside whenever one of us pays lip service to their service, and of course when one of us goes off on how lazy and mentally ill ‘they’ all are.

I don’t like your fashion business mister
And I don’t like these drugs that keep you thin
I don’t like what happened to my sister
First we take Manhattan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

You knew the Mickey Dolenz, drummer, from the fake music group on the TV.

Here he is as a liony tyke, long before you knew.

And here, as an old old man, last surviving Monkee, long after you stopped caring.

I get what you’re trying to do with it, Billy, and it’s not a bad thing, but I do doubt that it is a truly useful thing, even so.

So no, I won’t watch the Tom Morello one. Instead i’ll rage against the creeping meatball my own way.

And watch Trinki purposefully, alternatively.

***

Coming to the end I see now why peddling the image at you would be counterProdoos.

You’ll have to trust me

or you won’t

In the end it’s not going to matter either way, which isn’t the same Necessarily as preaching that Nothing Ever will.

Dyna-Gym

US on the Brink of Disaster

In the circles I choose to run in, variations on this title are very popular, for clickbait reasons.

I took the bait this time, and listened, not super-intently, but …

I don’t think Ambassador Freeman used the word ‘disaster’ once.

Nor ‘brink’.

The truth I am feeling especially acutely today (for sharply unexpected reasons) is that the brink is behind us now, and that although that may be known, it is nowhere yet Felt.

You are forgiven for not feeling it, and … and thanks anyway.

For your service, so worthy as it is of an honorflight, and also of course a Winnebago–hell, a herd of Winnebagos, we’re giving ’em away; how about a McCulloch chainsaw? A Las Vegas wedding, a Mexican divorce, a solid gold Kama Sutra coffee pot, and/or of course a baby’s arm

holding an apple.