Wednesday, October 24, 2012


This is my 222nd post. Adding the numbers of my name numerologically, they add up to 222.

What to say?

First, I guess I needed a month off. Shortly after the jubilation of my last post, there was a personnel shift at big bank, and I was moved to the coldest, draftiest, most awkward corner in the building. I had been surrounded by seven women; I now have grey cubical walls within arms reach on three sides. A reminder, I guess, not to stand out too much, not to enjoy myself while I work, maybe. That, and all the romantic ideas I sort-of hinted at in my last post, have collapsed in the reality of the generally weird idiosyncratic chaos of my life, including that furnace friend couldn't fix the furnace, so I'm heading into my third winter in a cold house. (Who do you ask on a date anyway, when you don't own a vehicle?) It's also harvest time, and there are many projects in the garden. The garden is very beautiful still, so I'm outside as much as I can be. There was also a stairs I built for a maiden, mother and crone. Anyway, I'm back.

What was going on a month ago? I suppose that was about the time of the first VICE-prez debate. How about this election! What's weirder than half of American voters, about to elect a vulture capitalist President? That about half of that half two years from now are going to be poorer for it? Though based on Ro-Money they might be angling for jobs driving Latinos out of the country. Or maybe working at a Walmart distribution center, living in tents and half-way houses and on the street. Though what do I know, I may have to work at big bank Monday, Christmas Eve Day, and the Friday after Thanksgiving, foreclosing on people's houses.

Weirder I think is Ro-Money's China talk, as if America is not afloat because China is buying Treasury bonds by the trillion, so we Americans can buy mountains of consumer crap we throw into the nearest designated incinerator or hole in the ground - so 28 members of Walton ilk are worth a billion, five or so worth $25bl+. Or maybe it's that my radical Fundamentalist Constitutionalist Sovereign Christian mother LOVES Wal-Mart? If I do make it home for the holidays, the food will consist mostly of Wal-Mart food product, even veges grown in China.*

But then, ladies, don't you know, if you get preggers by force, that's the will of OMOG. Something like my work at big bank is the work of God.

Or maybe it's that O doesn't really want the job? If he loses, it won't just be because America is about done with him. There have been moments in every debate, when I thought he wasn't sure. What about you? Would you want the job? Oh great, he can continue another four years killing people every week with drone strikes, presiding over the growing domestic security State, the collapse of global financial markets, food shortages famine and die-off(?), global biological eco-illogical destruction in the name of commerce, war in Iran (apparently). Alas, he chose to fulfil a fate, though he might have given it up chosen his own and told America the truth. Existing in such a wicked web of lies and agendas and confabulation, it is impossible to imagine any truth coming out of him, that isn't about treating Americans as if they are stupid children.

Wait a minute. The weirdest thing was hearing Ro-Money, paraphrased, "you didn't say that? You didn't?! You didn't?! What did you say then!" talking as a child, as to a child, to the President of the United States of America. Or maybe it was both, their inarticulate, fumbling, empty, inauthentic language. Or maybe the media reinforcement of the stupid message.

MY work at big bank is rote enough, and I am good enough at it, that I've spent the past week listening to youtube streams of Terence Mckenna. That has been a blessing. Terence talked a lot about the world being made of language. The world as we know it certainly is, the debates being a pre-eminent example. To the degree that most people talk about the world they inhabit, they recite what they hear in the media. The message of the media and the candidates for Prez being tight, no ideological wiggle room there at all, really. You won't get anything like the truth there, only the Truth as it is prescribed for you, stupid Americans.

ANyWay, here's some truth from me,

Storable Edibles. Contrary to zombie propaganda, I'm making sure everyone knows I'm growing food.

Another place for a hoop house experimental.

A stairs for a maiden, mother and crone (crone not present on delivery) living in a condominium. The mother of whom gave me this first generational digital camera.

As if by magic, a delivery, future valkyrie or norn, or the like, I hope.
Asters, on my woodland city walk

Got rid of my cell phone yesterday. I'll have a house phone and better internet, for $50 less a month than I've been paying for cell and city wireless. The Vee ry ZON people called it an upgrade.

*Both links in this piece came courtesy of  JoeP.



Luciddreams said...

Your food production is nothing short of awesome man. I suck at growing food although it doesn't stop me from trying. I'm good at setting the conditions for growing up, but I don't have a green thumb. My wife on the other hand...does. She's finally ready to contribute more to food production so I'll build and make soil and she'll grow the food. I am good at growing peppers, but then they don't require much fertility, like drought, and grow like weeds so that's not saying much. I much prefer making soil and turning food into fermented goodness.

It sucks about big bank, but you seem to be dealing with your plight rather well. I hope I never have to return to that menial drudgery. That horrible waste of life. That terrible meaningless torture known as a job. We are formulating a new idea for the Airstream. We've just about made our money back selling it for parts. Seems one window from that bitch is worth 500 dollars and we have 9 of them. At any rate we're talking about making it a portable kitchen/diner and selling food made to order out of it at swap meets and the like. It will be a good way to sell my ferments as well. Plus we'll keep a section for my wife's junk so she can hustle the junk for money. Cash or trade only please. Life out of the Matrix is way more fun.

William Hunter Duncan said...


We each have our gifts. While I can grow it because I love plants and plants seem to love me, (despite) I am less astute at the preserving and preparing. Lucky for your wife, you like to build soil, so you both can raise your children in a fertile oasis, wherever you end up for at least three years, assuming it is a place that is as desiccated and controlled as most places have become, and not already and oasis.

Build your windows. You can build screens too. Gawd, at that price I should get the specs and start building them myself. Sorry to hear the Airstream won't become your home, but maybe it's your business as long as there are dollars to be made. Which, btw and I hasten to remind, that fermenting skill will be more widely seen as the fundamental skill that it is, about the time your newbie is as old as your oldest is now. And maybe it will help make those idiot OMOGers think twice about initiating some hideous, quasi dark ages Amerika (in reference to the recent trend in your blog, which I recommend.)

I'm missing life outside the machine. The paycheck has been a blessing though.

William Hunter Duncan said...

"I'm missing life outside the machine. The paycheck has been a blessing though."

2 clarify, I am cherishing life outside the sphere of big bank, more than I do in big bank. It has been a blessing in many ways, even as it has made me ever more dubious about the wisdom of institutional control.

Jeff Z said...

Good to see you back. Sorry to hear about the cubicle at big bank. Can't have too much fun in corporate america. Cold drafty isolated cubicles are the preferred form of punishment- solitary confinement without a lock.

I've been watching the debates too and wondered the same thing about President O. Why does he look so blank, so wiped out? It wouldn't be so remarkable if he hadn't been so animated just 4 years ago. The only thing I can think is that he knows-- he's been briefed and knows for close to certain that the empire will be coming unglued before four years is up, and that whoever is in the oval office when the music stops will take the blame. And he wants out. But he can't get out. The party, half the country, his wife- they all expect him to run again, and win again, because that's just what sitting presidents are supposed to do, and why in the world wouldn't he want a second term?

I wouldn't want to be him or Ro-money. Pity the fools.

William Hunter Duncan said...


Can you imagine America in four years? Jeez, it is impossible to fathom. I bet though, if Ro-Money wins it will be the end of the Repub party after two.