i've got a job that's so so, as far as jobs go. there are no police. there is sunshine and forest scents when i walk between buildings. there is the figuring out how to really efficiently manage short bursts of time then do slow times- night between work days- kind of like high-stakes agriculture. washing glassware can get pretty crappy, though.

sometimes, when nobody's in the lab, i cry. just a little bit. the tightness of my goggles hurts my head while the constant machine noises affront my vibrational senses.

however.

sometimes, when nobody's in the lab, i dance. and whoop. there is no stopping me, and the destiny unfolds with great beauty.

this site inspired me today: commercially produced, in-bottle, wild ferment fruit wine

and Lee was inspired by http://www.miqel.com/

This Machine Kills Fascists

I walked in and the computer was playing a funny song that went,

Now as through this world I ramble, I’ve seen lots of funny men,
Some will rob you with a six gun, some with a fountain pen.

And as through your life you travel, wherever you may roam,
You’ll never see an outlaw drive a family from their home.

I thought it was probably The Woodbox Gang, given to us by Abby when she was here, but no it was Woody Guthrie. (Also an investigation due to Abby!) So I had to look up the lyrics (found here), and it was pretty cool.

"Pretty Boy Floyd" by Woody Guthrie

If you’ll gather round me children, a story I will tell,
About Pretty Boy Floyd , an outlaw, Oklahoma knew him well.

It was in the town of Shawnee, it was Saturday afternoon,
His wife beside him in his wagon, as into town they rode.

There a deputy sheriff approached him, in a manner rather rude,
Using vulgar words of language, and his wife she overheard.

Pretty Boy grabbed a log chain, and the deputy grabbed for his gun,
And in the fight that followed, he laid that deputy down.

Then he took to the trees and rivers, to live a life of shame,
Every crime in Oklahoma was added to his name.

Yes, he took to the trees and rivers, on the Canadian River shore,
And Pretty Boy found a welcome at many a farmer’s door.

There’s many a starvin’ farmer’s the same old story told,
How this outlaw paid their mortgage, and saved their little home .

Others tell you of a stranger , come to beg a meal,
And underneath his napkin left a thousand dollar bill.

It was in Oklahoma City, it was on a Christmas day,
There come a whole carload of groceries, with a note that did say:

“Well, you say that I’m an outlaw, you say that I’m a thief,
Here’s a Christmas dinner, for the families on relief.”

Now as through this world I ramble, I’ve seen lots of funny men,
Some will rob you with a six gun, some with a fountain pen.

And as through your life you travel, wherever you may roam,
You’ll never see an outlaw drive a family from their home.

-------

I'll also mention the new Little House in the Ghetto blog for goings-on in our little corner of the wide wide world. And we're excited about starting a Food Not Lawns Springfield.

I write to you, as always, from the kitchen table. This physical kitchen table that my laptop (and elbows) rest upon is in the Warehouse. The Warehouse is in the Ghetto. The Ghetto is at the foot of a steep hill, and on that hill is a soon-to-be garden. There's also a garden right next to the Warehouse that VFD is about to go clear of fallen limbs, which will be chainsawed, brought to the pub and burned behind in a community firecircle.

My elbows are connected, by way of shoulders, back to my center. The physical center of all human beings is the root of their Chi, (sometimes spelled Qi). I was reminded of this experienced fact by the interesting book "ChiRunning: A Revolutionary Approach to Effortless, Injury-Free Running", by Danny Dreyer. I am not suggesting that the base of consciousness is above the pubic bone and below the navel- I tend towards the Celtic view that it's behind the face on your head- but it's certainly true that, with your physical body, acting from the center Dan Tien makes a lot of sense. There will be less hurtful stress, more grace, and easy laughter if you pay attention to your center line, between the top ur head and the bone we monkies used to hang a tail on. Orient your extremities around your core- imagine if the Moon decided to move in disregard to the position of Earth, who she naturally spins around!



I am growing in awareness not only of this whole outside world, but also my inner worlds. I've been thinking about the "Tree of Life" a lot lately, and doing a fair amount of climbing. It's interesting to see that there's actually a Tree of Life at the Center of Judeo-Christian mysticism. This past autumn I thought that maybe, initiating into the HOGD would be useful for the Valiant Foresters' Debauchery effort. It's been a few months, and I can say that yes, studying and practicing magick is useful for permaculture. I'm starting to appreciate unseen entities more, and also opening to the experience of direct communication and therefore, cooperation, with wild plants. Trees in particular- my hunch was right, and the fringe benefits have been more than I hoped for. Like, the onwards and upwards, disciplined magickal practice has been immensely useful in steering my course way outside the dominant, "swimmingly fetching cultural milleua", towards the heart of Noble Savagery. To be more specific, with my attention on the ultimate source, the all-encompassing unmanifested potentiality that we can tap into consciously for greater effect in this realm, I get my bearings on aspects of myself and may focus on correcting glaring imperfections in the process.



Okay, VFD's gotta go chop that wood. Love and light always.