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.

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)
≈ $78,000 (base price; excludes delivery, site prep, taxes, and any optional upgrades)

Dealer contact
Zia Factory Outlet – 123 Main St, Santa Fe, NM 87501 • Phone (505) 555‑1234 • Web ziafactorynm.com

Also: A 1493 square foot variation on the theme, confirming the $78K base price, for a model actually in current inventory.

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.

https://www.patreon.com/posts/were-calling-it-143123742

Or if you must: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XU–7Ipd2SE

24 hours after I walked around the hotel and shot this video, we were forcefully awakened by some Escondido dipshit’s car alarm going off under the window of our room at the same hotel at six in the morning.

Hammering home the point reverse-beautifully.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

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.

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.

How Billionaires Broke The NFL’s Most Loyal Fans

Broke as in spirit and/or broke as in penniless.

Or both.

Murka.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Seven and a half hours circadian on my own, from 10:30 to 6. At this early hour it is cold. The indoor thermometer says sixtysix.

***

“When I say I’m gonna do something, I’ll do it. There’s no need to remind me every six months. Thanks.”

***

The Amtrak Station in the Middle of Nowhere

Source

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.

I’m going away to “Spain”
when I get my money saved

I’m gonna start tomorrow
I’m gonna kick tomorrow

I feel naked
without it

what else to do about it?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

[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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

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.

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

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

Ultimately making art is scary
and there are all sorts of ways to
respond to that fear.

The same thing is true about Oppression.

***

What you see me as is different from what I am.

The same is true for what I see myself as.

2-3 miles from the co-op, 1584 square feet, plus an acre.

Why only 125K? I don’t know. But that’s roughly the price of a new doublewide to toss onto Dorothy.

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 .

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.

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.

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.

Former Dem Operative Warns:
Democratic Party Culture Becoming Increasingly Hostile to Young Men

Or old men. Or just men.

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.

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.

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.

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?

Charlie Kirk Feared Criticizing Israel: Strange Details of Assassination

No one knows nothin’. Yet.

How do we construct our knowing?

About whodunnit, or about Help, or about anything …

?

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

Thousands A Month In Dark Money Paid To “Leftists’ (notably, David Pakman)

David Pakman: ‘No, you don’t understand, this isn’t bad, it’s a force for all that is good and right in the world!‘

Complete coincidence that you would feel that way about the group that pays your mortgage, Sir.

For some inexplicable reason they only provide a comfortable living to completely captured sold-out shills.

Like you my cardboard dude.

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.

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.

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!

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.

Biden Admin Liar REGRETS Lying About Israel War Crimes!

“Regrets. I’ve had a few … ”

Oh yes, the Cracker is back too.

We’re just swamped, by all the winning.

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.

(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.

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.

… It has almost nothing to do with making this a better place …

If it did I wouldn’t be tardy right now, and/as I usually am, on the returned call front on the road rise score.

It just plugged a Cassandra hole, and not a single other person in the whole wide world concurred; not one. Therefore

iCould be wrong.

That is now the canonical formulation of the sentiment, and I get myself dizzy ennit, just watching him spin.

The written word is a lie, but what happens when you read it out loud? Anything? Significant?

Not enough data and no one right way to fold laundry.

Yes, we told you it would be a standard 99-degree late-August day. But it is 102 already, and feels like Yuma at 111.

I could deal with that once in a while, but the context is that the monsoons were supposed to start over two months ago and never showed.

The forecast for a week or so out is that they will, for a day or two, just as the season is traditionally winding down–Yeah we’ll see.

I should have, and eventually will, invest in an AC unit capable of cooling down a car-sized space for eight hours of unsweaty sleep without burning too much power. The flipside, which is called a chinese diesel heater, is already in stock here at the ranch.

***

Look, more rebranding! Oh yes, it’s a Peg game alright.

Worth watching just for the throwaway crackwhore joke, among other hot Metzger-the-exJW takes.

***

The Israeli state is on life support and thus preparing for the next round of desperate killer moves.

I would only ask that we all remember that the genocide would be stopped dead in its tracks, if only the constant infusions of our tax dollars were to stop. We are to blame.

Meanwhile, a quick update on how and why the Hendertucky Judeo-Pedo was let go, to never answer for his own little child soul murders.

***

The morality of the world that’s done so well by you is irredeemably broken and going about your business ignoring it is not living your best life.

The Invention of History | The Sumerian Saga: Part 1

“For 99 percent of human history, we were ghosts”.

But then what rough beast slouched toward Bethlehem to be born?

A boy with a name. A boy named Sue. An affectionate diminutive, for Sumeria. The time is 7500 years before Now.

And yes, there were scattered fumblings at proto-cities earlier than that, and starting at 7500 YBP exactly is thus only a rhetorical device. (Get all Egyptian for instance if you like, over there on your blog. I promise to read it.)

But an advantageous device, since Sumeria was also one of the first places where Writing, and thus civilized History began, only 5000 years ago at most.

The tiniest scrap of human time and in a way the only scrap of time ever, floating for this brief moment we call now, on a vast sea of ghostly timelessness.

The narrator will explain to you, should you have ears to hear, why you, a mere 3000 generations later, still love the aesthetics of adobe wrought from an otherwise impoverished landscape.

More importantly, why your grandpa traded in the noble role of nomadic savage for that of ruled and enslaved domestic cityzen, for nothing but a mess of barley pottage and the lie of an Education and a ‘better life for his kids’.

His grandfather once spilled his own religion in paint, in caves, but he had to settle for attending someone else’s temple, and paying his tithe to his masters upon every dutiful visit.

I’m sure that daddy called that loving-you, and that you had every reason to believe that’s what it was.

But nevertheless, he was a deeply foolish man, and he sold your ass to some king, in the name of that love. Forget that fact at your soul’s peril.

Human animals, “organized to achieve a single goal”, as ‘workers’, instead of free peoples.

But who organized them, and said what the goal would be?

Forget to ask, and become your grandfather, all over again in bitter cyclic civilized pain.

As you can see, I’m only 14 minutes in.

But that’s enough, to notice how everyone is working so hard, except for those privileged few who are only Overseers.

The lie you were raised with said that the point of living was to become one of Them.

Do you still believe it, even now?

The only shit worse and more evil than branding is Rebranding

In that better world of dreamy tomorrow, no products, whether meat or carrots or news or opinions

will have Names.

In the here and now, every such name you can completely expunge from your life forever is another step closer to real and indelible enlightenment and happiness.

Quiet Revolution Now.

When it starts, the unholy names of Google and Apple and Facebook and MSNOW! will be first up against the wall, and so deserving of it.

Subaru, Starlink, Anaprim, hold on, we’ll get around to you, if we’re really on god’s side after all.

The best of us and the rest of us were up at the newly expanded Rim of the grand canyon. They were doing it wrong, the expansion I mean.

But they did have one good little coffee place plus bookstore, and on a shelf prominently displayed was a big picture book about a magical place where they were doing it right.

It was called the Arenas Valley and that’s a place in the real world, even though its nowhere near as magical in real life as it was in the dream.

So I drove us there of course, and what I found was a revelation.

The book had told how Arenas had become a net alternative-energy supplier.

The revelation was about what that abundance had in turn produced.

Crumbling hotels restored to past glory, but as indoor farmer’s markets.

Mostly inhabited by artisans instead of farmers.

There were philosophers too.

From Cynics to Socialists.

A world that should be instead of the one we have, even if only a fool would say that.

For the laborious fourth there are concrete/reified/practicality plans in place.

For the fourth a month after that I am thinking about an adjustment to the nature of the Spill on its tenth anniversary, and a visit to the silver town to pay the PO and/or land-tax bills there.

For the fourth/eighth of November, a non-concrete plan, and a massage. It would be very cool to have an early prototype of the motel replacement kit in place: who knows?

Between now and all of that there are twoThree weeks, and one job, I tell myself

Go play your hand you big-talkin’ man, make a big fool of yourself

and it’s not about the dental hygiene though that will get done too. Doubtless.

We got married in a fever hotter than a pepper sprout
We’ve been talkin’’bout Jackson Ever since the fire when-out

***

Netanyahu Deputy ARRESTED In Vegas Child Predator Sting

Right there in our Henderson. Huh.

And of course, given his position, he was immediately released back to Israel.

Completing a nearly perfect arc of evil irony.

***

My real vitriol though is reserved today for my self.

It’s real and I am working through it as best I know how.

The Cro-Mag video guy is talking right now about “sustained organized meat acquisition” in the Solutrean period.

I’m doing the same thing.

It’s just that 20 thousand years on, the process is abstracted and unbelievably and annoyingly overcomplicated.

Knowing that helps me hate myself less, even if the self-excusing is a bit of a hack.

of happiness, of peace–sleepcore

Cro-Magnon Humanity(50,000–10,000 YBP [and maybe still])

There isn’t any need to rewild our selves, per se–we haven’t changed essentially in a few thousand years.

But living a less domesticated life, that is another story.

Coffee and cigarettes are post-ag phenomena and as such don’t deserve a status as foundational to who you are or I am, as strange and counterintuitive as that seems.

I’m enjoying this guy’s stubbornly long and discursive narratives, and

I feel better about myself when I watch them, instead of bloviation about football and the like.

NASCAR and the Dam of Legitimacy

The tldr is that racing under the France family is about as real as wrestling.

See: kayfabe

I don’t know about you, but for me most of alleged reality is turning out the same.

Ah, for the olden perfect days … Darrell Waltrip: Cheatin’ Stories & Complicated Friendship with Dale Earnhardt

Ted Kaczynski’s Warnings About Big Tech, Centers of Power & More

You should read it on your phone just to amplify the postmodernist irony.

Thanks for paying attention to the important shit alongside the fluff, Glenn.

shift

After the sleeping and the waking and the coffee and the mulling and the walking are in the bag

the two poles of my daily existence are this computer and the counter in the kitchen.

shift

Every Citizen is built on an assembly line in our Page, AZ factory, providing exceptional quality and efficiency.

They don’t mean citizen, yet. It’s the model name for a modular home.

While we precision-build your homes in our factory, you prepare your development site and obtain all necessary permits.

Seems right; standard stuff.

ZenniHome models are built to be shipped. They are the same dimensions as a standard shipping container allowing them to move by semi-truck, train, or boat with no special permits.

So it’s a variation on the same thing Boxabl was attempting, before delays mounted and costs exploded.

Our 640 square foot Citizen model has two bedrooms and has been expertly designed for 3-4 people to live comfortably. Our transforming furniture and walls enable flexible usage of space. As a result, our Citizen model functions the same as a 1,500 square foot home.

The claim seems ambitious, but even if their math is only half right, that’s still very intriguing.

Each home arrives as two modules equipped with all finishes completed to perfection. Once on site, the two halves are quickly and securely joined and finishing work can be completed.

This is actually the most promising thing. It’s a doublewide, for zoning purposes? But half the size of the smallest doublewide ‘manufactured/mobile home’.

But what about … Pricing?

Seems like a closely held secret, but one worth hammering away at for a while.

ifWhen the goodbye look is literal i’ll get it but give it you won’t have to guess

Yes I was up a little too early, but it was wellrested and I shouldn’t be deep tired until the time rolls around again perfect right.

Yes it was only two miles and maybe technically less, but it got done and in the cool.

The shower works even when the rest doesn’t, so I will use it and wipe my self down proper.

The meditation happened even if it turned out to be all about towing, and

those pushing forward list things will get done or not and

okay

a line of women all in white

Russian Breakthrough Threatens Encirclement of Pokrovsk and Myrnohrad! – 12/Aug/2025

I haven’t posted anything about the situation on the ground in Ukraine for a while because there hasn’t been much to report.

That’s changing fast.

This time the link goes to the story as told from the point of view of a young Ukrainian woman. Her production values are relatively low but her credibility is unmatched.

When you hear about Trump pushing hard for negotiations lately: this is why. The Russians are now poised to sweep the table and meet all of their stated war objectives.

… and spend even more time, to understand where your nourishment comes from ….

More than 50% of calories consumed by the average American isn’t food in any normal sense.

It’s classified as “ultraprocessed” shit of some kind instead. Like ‘lunch meat’.

The percentage of broken manufactured calories is even higher for children up to 18.

Of the less than half that even is food, a whole lot of it is awful, stuffed with hormones and antibiotics and sprayed with pesticides and whatever ‘Apeel’ is.

What to do about it?

Whatever you can.

There’s a quote usually attributed to Elvis Costello that goes:

Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.

Yes.

Talking about football is the same.

All these piles of expertise and conjecture, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Mostly it’s the same with politics too.

Meanwhile I roasted three batches and one of them was for me.

I was certainly all about making fun of Clippy, back in the day.

Who knew, that he could turn into an icon for Living Right? It’s a testament to how far we’ve come in the wrong direction, in so short a time.

Change your profile picture to clippy. I’m serious

On the one hand I’m completely down with Mr. Louis Rossman’s argument.

On the other, I think changing your/my profile pic someplace online is quite a misguided approach, compared to just leaving their horrible platforms altogether and thus living better.

So please stop using fucking Facebook, or if you can’t do that, yet, at least stop using it while you’re in bed–same for the unholy phone itself. And the Twitter and the Netflix and the evermore evil Adobe besides.

Louis rips Adobe to shreds over their garbage response

There are ways.

Don’t do it because I said so, or to signal virtue. Do it because you care about yourself more and more.

***

Over here, my single point of addiction remains YT, and they’re doing their level best to drive me away with this latest round of restrictions (now with AI!), and with being so hungry for my ID all of a sudden.

Secretly, I hope they succeed in disfellowshipping me.

In the meantime, treat yourself to a higher quality of tempests in teapots if you like.

Glenn Responds to Questions About Nick Fuentes v. Tucker/Candace

Well ..

I am “up at four” but the “wellrested” part will have to wait for a better day.

I made it to a bikeride with no scrap of the brutal solar heat in it: actually I was too early because there wasn’t enough dawnlight.

While I was piloting in the semi-darkness I thought about how shaky my truth is.

How will I fix it?

I will come up for Air.

The WeatherService is calling it Very Hot and they ain’t lyin’ partial relief is a week away per the earliest dubious predictions

The Big Four of Zer0

–Buddh* Meditation Thich Naht

–Consciousness from a Physics Perspective; ‘analytic idealism’ Kastrup Faggin Essentia

–Anarchi* HunterGathering Minimalis* Nomadics; beyond Civ and without Phones, Against-Renting and maybe even Owning/Property (green/primal/paleo/rewild/shamanMushrooms/whatever)
(35000 YBP as just better than The Birth of Civilisation )
(and the way this connects to ‘ancestrallyAppropriate’ eating via Diabetes and Dominance Hierarchy and ReWilde-ing)

Ted and QuitSystem Chico ‘cuz it’s ruint, doctors and mechanics alike
“Suspicions Of Anti-Institutional Activity”

–FourFour: belletrist (as opposed to litterateur/auteur) even though i am not sure exactly why

***

**minor crystalline images**, like

–This is zero, 1 is Sanctuary, whether here or there, and 2-3 in current config are mundanities, money, data
–competencies, especially the historically underdeveloped ones like builder/’developer’
–hérétique (to grasp upon a heresy is literally a taking/choosing enabled by oneself)
–tears in rain
–šrdnn sardinian, sherden
–躺平
–raggaðr “shaggy, bristly, rough” man
(who is thus utterly alone and rarely has [enough] Community or Tribe)
–F/LOSS and especially GNU–pluma snippets manager
–a Cyberpunk aesthetic … Bladerunner, both of them, as a nominal ‘favorite movie’
—so many ‘favorite songs’
–Ash* and the fraught evolution of Wonder Woman
–WebsDomia and Platforms
and things in between like the synthesis of the word and image “Anaprim”

***

dumpster diving

eddington movie
maybe someday: It’s still on this list to represent some broader politicsHistoryCultureCinema thing that actually is peripherally important in some opaque way: ‘The Vietnam War Explained’ and The REAL Cause of the Revolutionary War and AtunShei generally and paulHutchinson and all Due Dissidence

(Ephemeral Rift) The Illusion of Freedom & Independence – Plus: the Dark Truth of America’s Founding | ASMR (the perfect title although the first 15 minutes are not ASMR, or good at all, and even though he thinks anywho is a word)

Blank City | Full Movie | John Waters, Steve Buscemi, Jim Jarmusch, Lydia Lunch, Debbie Harry

BINAURAL Beats and asmr and the blanket app for when it’s at its most brutal

A short sleep punctuated by unusually vivid dreams about some bodies that I used to know, way back, like ’84.

I woke with sudden realizations about some of them, which seemed profound and might be.

Certain of the revelations are not fit for print, which is a lie because (to the chagrin of many) there is nothing actually unacceptable for this print.

That’s just my way of saying I have my reasons for not sharing and potentially offending.

However. There was a feeling in part of the dream that led me conclude that a former mentor and lover of mine was an expert not only in English Lit, but in modus vivendi.

Which coincidentally is my passion and my job now, too.

***

If you’re a woman, pretty much the highest level of spiritual authority you can attain within the Witnesses of Jehovah is to marry well and become a Circuit Overseer’s Wife.

Informally known as, and this is true: a COW.

One time very early on I got a crush on a CO’s daughter. But my affections were not reciprocated: “Never did like mama’s homemade dress; papa’s bankbook wasn’t big enough“.

Well Miss Jackie, it has been quite some few decades, but it’s never too late to tell you to go fuck yourself.

I’ve said a lot of nice things about the Tucker in the last few years, and I’ll stand by them. It’s only fair that I acknowledge it though, when he reverts back into being the duplicitous poor little rich boy dweeb of old.

I don’t plan to elevate Nick Fuentes, who pointed it out, to the status of new (working class) hero of rightness.

If you meet the Buddha on the road, you’re supposed to cap him.

Now kill that image and keep practicing. Reality is an impermanent illusion. If you believe that you have a correct image of what it means to be Enlightened, then you need to kill that image and continue down the road.

“The Tao that can be named is not the eternal Tao.”
(So if you think you see the real Tao, kill it and move on).

That feels mo-better.

“These were unequal societies to be sure, but let’s not lose sight of the fact that the people living under capitalism were objectively more free, more prosperous, and enjoyed a higher quality of life than people under feudalism. This was a HUGE leap forward … one of the most profoundly progressive events in human history … Liberal capitalism was a triumph–for Europeans.

For the indigenous people they conquered, the West Africans they enslaved, and the ecosystems they exploited
it was literally The Worst Thing That Has EVER Happened.”
The Real Cause of the Revolutionary War

The Revolt that can be effected is not the eternal revolt.

I don’t even need to give up beating the rugs in my quixotic, doomed seeking of the Light.

But rather just acknowledge that each time I find it and no matter how radiant it may be for five minutes, it too is just another artifact of the dashboard of consciousness

and as such

also

Wrong.

What is wrong
with being weird
What is wrong
with living in your basement
with all these cats
just off the ugly interstate
in the land of no trees
?

May the road rise with you. I could be wrong, but I’m shaking my head no even as I say it, because yeah, I am Spartacus, I am the raped Gaea, I am Rotten Johnny, dressed The Fool and spittin’ it like I see it.