The Filthy, Savage Bastidges

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Good morning, my Peeps.  Here I sit in my own backyard food garden, blogging from a wireless laptop.  Pretty cool, and far more than any human deserves.  All these modern comforts are gravy, Brothers.  Hard-earned gravy, but still gravy.  Let us remember that.

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The food farm is an ongoing project and I am still busting hump on it.  I now have 7 wine barrels total for planting in.  Two have citrus, 1 has an almond, and 1 has a 3-graft peach.  A potato patch will go in the 5th barrel (3 types of fingerling seed potatoes on order), and veggies will go in the last 2.  All 3 earth boxes are now planted with tomatoes (early & heirloom varieties), and 1 blueberry has gone into a real pot.

I'm trying hard to maintain the awesomeness of the backyard landscaping that came with my cottage, but at the same time incorporate the food garden.  Thus the layout shown below, which limits all food plants to containers, and superimposes them on top of the existing lawn without ripping the ground up.  I went for some symmetry, and hopefully when the dead tree on the bottom left in the photo below is torn out (within the week), the lawn will remain a fun and attractive part of the yard, 1/2 shaded (right) and 1/2 sunny (left).

I want to install a shed in the far right corner of the photo below, but that plan is on hold until I determine if a sewer lateral runs thru that corner.  If it does, I'm SOL, and I'll have to figure out an alternative arrangement for some kind of workshop and more storage.

Not much to say at this hour on this day.  Got chores to do.  Just remember this: When the filthy, savage bastidges come galloping over the hill, shoot and run, shoot and run, shoot and run.  History has shown us Americans that it's the only viable way.

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More Aural Vomit & A Damn Cute Kitty

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Recovering from the sting of femalien rejection is never fun.  I'm trying to use the experience to detach from desire.  It's a Buddhist concept, but quite honestly it's also my own conclusion.  Desire is suffering.  If I can let the desire be there and not let it consume me, I am a better man.  The same goes for the other emotions and thoughts connected with rejection - anger, hurt, self-pity.  There's nothing wrong with any of them, they are as natural as pie.  It's only my attachment to them that hurts.

I'm not trying to preach here.  Nor am I trying to be a Buddhist.  I hate that shit.  The truth is, when I get rejected by a womanoid, a whole series of unpleasant thoughts and emotions come to the forefront of my stilted, white male psyche.  And I don't like them and I don't like the pain they cause me.  So, I deal with them as best as I can, and as far as I can see, it is my relationship to them that is the problem.  I could drink my sorrow away, but that would not change my relationship to the pain, it would merely mask it.  I did it for years and not a goddamn thing changed, except that I ran the ever-increasing risk of becoming an addict.  So, fuck.

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I always thought that the coolest kind of assault rifles were ones that were belt-fed, and full auto, like the ARES-16 AMG-2.  Why are they so cool?  Well, cuz belt-fed and full-auto means they aren't really assault rifles.  They're light machine guns.  :-)  And that's some awesome CQB shit.

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The cat is nervous cuz I moved the couch, which has become her sanctuary in this new house.  I fear she will make a break for it if she spies an open door before she calms down again.  Everything is locked down tight.  Why do I love the damn creature so much?  Well, she's atrociously cute.  She was a wild kitten when I found her, many years ago, and it took me 2 months to tame her.  Of course, she's been a commanding bitch for nigh on a decade, but what the hey, sometimes a man needs a strong female presence in his life.

My relationship with her is unlike any other relationship I've ever experienced.  I call her my "companion", for lack of a better descriptor.  She climbs under the covers on cold nights and keeps me warm.  It's like sleeping with a hot, heavy, heavenly feather. Sometimes I annoy her.  Sometimes she annoys me.  Sometimes she gets spanked right on her skinny little cat bum a hundred futile times in a row, and sometimes I get ripped apart by her brutally sharp claws.  Credit where credit is due: She's got class, and she stands up for herself.  I admire both characteristics.

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I bought this fucking cottage, and I love it, it's beautiful and full of light and has an awesome backyard with a big hardwood deck.  And right away I start turning it into a survivalist outpost.  I've been working my ass off for weeks now, and I'm starting to think, Am I crazed?  Why can't I just veg on the fucking deck like an American?  Why am I buying 1/2 wine barrels and fruit trees and a security screen for the front door when I could be buying a deck lounge set and drinking beer on it like a normal human being?  I suppose that I am crazed, and that's just the way it is.  You can't un-know what you know.  And I know that human history is full of pitiless strife of every caliber and color, and this century will be no different.  I guarantee that if the people like me out there all said Fuck It and gave up the Life and buried our heads in the sand of mindless suburban consumption, the shit would immediately hit the proverbial fan.  Sometimes it doesn't rain because we are carrying umbrellas, Folks.  Wake up and smell the cordite.

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I had a thought the other day.  It was a big one.  It really filled a hole that I couldn't get around for a long time.  Here's what it was: The anti-gun people are kind of right because guns make it really easy to kill people, maybe too easy.  Probably too easy.  And the pro-gun peeps are kind of right because if we were all armed then criminals would get there nuts shot off if they tried to pull their shit in public.  Both sides seem kind of right-on to me.  THEN IT DAWNED ON ME: The issue has gotten confused. Cuz here's the way it is: Owning guns is not going to address the root causes of crime.  But it does help stop criminals from doing bad shit.  And that makes sense to me.  It's like everyone has forgotten the basic truths of the situation.  The anti-gun people think it's immoral not to address crime as a social ill that must be lovingly nipped in the bud, and the pro-gun people think that shooting criminals is stopping the cause of crime.  So, yeah, this was something that I ruminated on for many years, and I feel good now that I know how things stand.

Well cripes - I could talk all day, but there's an urban retreat still to be built, so I'd better get on.  Rest well.

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A New Day

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Fer fuck sake.  I had today's blog entry 80% complete and I somehow hit delete and lost the entire fucking thing.  That really hurts.  So, Take Two:

The eternal question: How many times can a man crap in one day?

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I moved.  Been busting ass to install a food farm ASAP in time for this Spring's growth spurt.  To date I've planted/transplanted/installed/etc.: a Meyer lemon, a limequat & a self-pollinating almond (all dwarf) in 1/2 wine barrels.  4 early-bird tomatoes in 2 earth boxes.  A Mandarin orange & 2 blueberries in other containers.  Also: a San Pedro cactus, White sage, lavender & aloe in ceramic pots.  Still to fill: 4 more 1/2 wine barrels (an apple, a vertical potato patch & kitchen veggies), 1 more earth box (more tomatoes) & 3 wall-mounted hanging window boxes (strawberries).  Can't have chickens here cuz it's a co-op & there are HOA rules, but I plan to sneak some quail in under the radar, for their eggs.  Below is a photo, several days out-of-date, of the food corner of my yard.  This will be a compact but highly productive food farm, as I want to use the rest of my yard for a shed workshop & summer fucking.

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Below, a Spetsnaz fighting shovel shown next to a regular trowel for size comparison.  I have sworn by this shovel for years.  Designed to be thrown and used in combat, it also functions as a trowel, a spade, a hatchet, and a transfer shovel.  I use mine every day in my yard, and when I'm done with it I fling it into the ground, where it sticks.  You can sharpen the four edges, too.  I've thrown this little bitch dozens of times and it is supremely satisfying to see it stick in a redwood round from 10 feet. It's WAY more effective than a tomahawk, too - vastly more blade area for vastly more damage and sticking power.  It can dig a hole, move dirt, split kindling, chop off an offending root, or cut off Charlie's head.  These things cost between 15 and 20 dollars on the internet.  Get one today and keep it in your garden shed or your truck box.

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Are you the kind of guy that gets irked when there are cracks in the backyard fence and gate that allow strangers to catch a glimpse of your bug-in pad?  Of course you are.  All Hippie Survivalists are.  Well, you can chill the fuck out, because I have come up with an ingenious solution to this vexation.  You just staple an inner tube the length of the offending crack.  It's effective and virtually free.  Below are photos of  a vexing crack, and then the solution (on a different vexing crack):

 

Hint: On the hinge-side of the gate, staple the inner tube to both sides, as it will bend inward when the gate is opened (left).  On the latch-side of the gate, staple the inner tube to the gate only (right).  This works!

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Hello, little black owl!  Would you like a bowl of milk?

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Methinks the 20 gauge Howdah hunter and the customized 12 gauge Mossberg 590A1 Mariner make a fine CQB combo.  Yes, the Howdah takes time to re-load, but it can bust 2 balls into Charlie's face at point blank, no?  And the Mossberg has limited range, but we ARE talking CQB, aren't we?  Ka-chink, BOOM, ka-chink, BOOM, ka-chink, BOOM, ka-chink, BOOM, ka-chink, BOOM, ka-chink, BOOM! When TSHTF, my CQB shottie combo will surely fill the emotional void left in my white psyche by the collapse of the entire Western paradigm and the loss of all that has ever been dear to me.

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Mark my words: Two movements will go mainstream and become worldwide in the 21st Century: Environmentalism and Survivalism.  They both emerged in the 70s and mark the dawn of a new, post-modern era.  They will become increasingly important movements as time progresses and society and nature disintegrate into anarchic, polluted chaos.

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Not long ago I had a large-ish reserve of collapse-proof investments that gave me more than a little comfort when I contemplated the end of Western civilization.  Now that reserve is gone, replaced by an urban farmstead and a monthly mortgage payment.  I may have less monetary security now, but I have more peace-of-mind.  I no longer worry like I used to.  This adventure either works out or it doesn't, but either way I give it my best.  Sometimes you just have to go where life, and your heart, point you.  Amen.

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My new place is beautiful.  It's a cottage that was built in 1941.  Morning light streams into it, and at sunset the interior glows.  The light and air outside are infinitely better than my last home.  The cottage opens into a beautiful backyard that has a hardwood deck and an 8x10 laundry/storage room.  I'm gonna like it here.

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