here for healing

•2014-04-27 (Sunday) • Leave a Comment

because not healthy. still.  reflection of environmental toxins.  simultaneous detox releasing old things that do not apply any more.

every action is political.  every bite is political.  avoiding politics is avoiding life.  hahahaha.  says the presidential candidate that has disowned the entire journalistic profession for disconnected semi-informed public statements.  no signs.  no flyers.  no trees harmed during this campaign.  hugging, yes lots of that.  stop repeating the harsh things.  it’s ok.  they’re not happening now, so let’s enjoy that they are not happening now.

micro aggression.  pico aggression.  how many times do i have to apologize for being how the world made me.  a few more, apparently.  is it all here?  i don’t know.  i started withholding suicidal thoughts from counselors years ago, so once the capability to lie out loud is put into actual practice, how does one even know what one is actually thinking.

we flip through the archives when/as we clean video off the phone.  i think it helps.  i have no idea.

4:32. brb.

5:23 ready to pee again.  yep.

i was going to add the following things to the wiki, but then i tweeted a whole bunch instead, and got hungry.  we only decided to come type at 3:14 pm.  yes, it’s pi, rounded.  it’s also the time school let out.  at least 7th-12th grades.  freedom.  this transitions nicely to the philosophy of school transformation.  how’s that?  ok.

schools are public areas, right?  everyone gets let in, and on state money.  we make this big structure for the purposes of passing authoritarian gobbely gook along to the children.  i am not opposed to the transferance of information, far from it.  i think we should make information public and accessible.  easy to find what you need.  matter should be the same way.  and food.  so, every empty school should be turned into communal housing.  every mall, too.  any and every entity that was provided a reduction or an exemption in taxes, ought to let people live there for free.  yes, we will permaculture it up.  yes, we will provide defined roles for every type of person, and we will let them do a variety of required actions depending on their preferences.  these do not have to be large spaces if there are common areas where people can exist in peace.  also, every living space should have access to nature.  sky view, tree view.  airflow.  look, there are temperature differentials of vast differences on this property.  let’s use them to keep our food and bodies fresh.  yes.  we let the people who will live there build them.  yes, we let the people who live there “police” or audit them.  autonomous collective with state support.  there is so much infrastructure going to waste.  so many materials being weathered, or just sitting there, waiting for us to put them into use again.  there will have to be a lot of multi-use spaces.  infrastructure for campgrounds that will put the influx of humans to systematic use.  we can collect resources, reconfigure them.  we can cook/store/cool/dehydrate our food using the naturally occuring processes that happen every day.  we are the engineers.  we are the quality control.  we are the research and development.  we are the guinea pigs.  we are the programmers and end users.  we are the camera people, and the subjects of interest.  we are the shared with.  we are the shared for.  we are the children rejected by their mothers, and the means of their reconnection.  we are the dissipator of pain, for this world focuses too much on its pains.  yes, they are many.  yes, they hurt like hell.  these are symptoms.  the dull, deeply internal inner ache.  it’s universal in humans living in this world.

is positivity microaggression?  it can be.  how?  telling someone that their pain is minimal, or should be disregarded.  perhaps even redirected.  how does one offer assistance without expectation of input.  i don’t think there is such a thing.  this is what currency is for.  assistance without expectation.  every other type of gift is temporal, takes up space, or must be used at a particular place, by a particular time.  legal fictions last forever.  theoretically.  not connected to the life of any temporal form.  how many people have died on the planet, versus how many are currently living?  the actual reality of those living here right now, is that they haven’t died.  take that into account, scientists.  the whole cult of science is as much of a clown show as academia or police-enforced politics.  warmonger controls.  fucking stupid.  loving genius.  nice save.  what do you think you’re jesus, not yelling all these things.  i want people to be able to read without having panic attacks.  because they can hear your voice in your typed yelling.  yes, because i word vicious flows so smoothly.  nobody adopts them, because they’re free-standing works of art.  what if you just made a $10 coin and started using it as currency.  what, like the souvenir ones?  sure.  why not.  wouldn’t that be easy to pirate?  not if it held some means of digitally tracking its origins.  local currency is only local here.  of course there are exchanges.  the new state will respect fungible means of interaction of humans.

i am following an  account on twitter  that makes me think about crypto-currency markets.   there are a lot more digital currencies than bitcoin, you know .  it’s the kleenex phenomenon.  catch-phrase culture.

back. 9:32 pm. typing on phone.

the section i was going to add to the wiki was open source designs. yes erv. also, a walking staff that opens into a self-standing structure with the addition of a tyvek fly.  also utility bikes, basketed handlebars, frames, trailers. everything we will build once the tool library and design shop has a space to work. so, when the fascist warmonger landowners lay down their arms and surrender. good luck with that. seriously, gentle people are born in enemy territory regardless of shade/origin/gender. intelligence is subject to the will of violence and power. planet retard slave. home sweet home.

PEACE,
t

food processor/ninja

•2014-04-21 (Monday) • Leave a Comment

image

dictator making us type. good. that helps me think. ooh. admitting your existence? clever.

we’re not nearly as sick as you think. the biodiversity of my body is substantial. rich. monoculture is the opposite of rich.

off the grid food truck designs are pouring into my skull like i’m a thin-processing client with an actual cooperative network on the ground. BRICK AND MORTAR. calm, you. yessir. tell them about the webbing. WE’RE GOING TO MAKE STRETCHABLE NETTING OUT OF THINLY SLICED ALUMINUM CANS SPLICED AND WOVEN AND SHEETED WITH EPOXY. ok, yes. tell them about the hemp layer HEMP FOR INSULATION AND CUSHIONING AND IT’S GOING TO BE A FULL-ON EARTHSHIP. like, a traveling one. the truck doesn’t support the house any more. the house sits by itself. the house attaches itself underneath. the house helps pull itself. the truck whole rig is built for speed. road speeds if we’re feeling snailish. WE’RE TALKING WARP SPEED TO PARIS MY DREAM CITY DOESN’T ALLOW INTERNAL COMBUSTION PROPULSION AND I WANT TO GET THERE AS QUICLY AS POSSIBLE. for that reason? for lots of reasons. brush up on my french. it’ll make next winter’s return to nola to meet our barge full of stuff from up north, including the car, that much more enjoyable. are we finally going to apprentice in the hemp processing industry. yes. in france? where else? ARE YOU A CUTTING-EDGE PERMACULTURE FARMER, OR ARE YOU WORKING FOR THE ENEMIES OF THE ENTIRE PLANETARY ECOLOGY. there are other things you could be doing, FOOT DRAGGER. good one, shaggy. nice braids. thanks.

9:11 pm. love you.

potential menu rn:

kale salad with pickled bean sprouts & pepper garlic mustard balsamic dressing

breakfast burrito with organic chicken & turkey sausage, eggs, & cheese

grilled cheese

vegan barbecue on gluten free bread

soy chicken strip quesadilla with vegan cheese

french toast

that might be it for now. i have sour cream, vegan sour cream, cottage cheese, some really good yogurt, and some jams & jellies, plus some organic sriracha, some crazy hot black widow hot sauce, and louisiana hot sauce. stuff fried in butter. sweet & savory.

we have to add flour into this mix. we have to get the oven fixed. we have to create sufficient electricity or find sufficient electricity to make bread. SOLAR OVEN AS PART OF THE INFRASTRUCTURE. yes, indeed. solar dehydrator, too. some of this kale could be ground down to green superfood. we should get a hand grinder. a blender? no. it’s going to have to be bike-driven. it’ll come of the kitchen pto. your kitchen has a power-take-off for appliances? yep. it’s driven by the flywheel, which is driven by wind, solar, and me. pedal power. yes, the dog can help. yes, you can pull that cable and help, or sit there and pedal. or, climb up there and have your weight pull down as a counter-balance. it all adds to the energy of the flywheel, which cooks and cools all this food. yes, please have a shit in our noise-sheilded open-air composting toilet. we are a full life-cycle housing cooperative. and how.

i thought you were an off-the-grid certified kitchen/home-building cooperative. we are. i thought you were a farm network and value-added processor collective. we are. i thought you were a design and engineering firm. we are. and the bike trailers & custom bike-like transport apparatus? yes, we do all of that. dictator has his fingers in many soups. yes, we have a stewpot and a rice maker. yes, the rice and beans are going to have to work their way onto this menu. we are still burning fossil fuels here, people. yet somehow, i live in this reality. it all exists. i float around the planet regularly. the most beautiful beings preen and sing before me. everyone laughs. being dictator is good.

why do you call yourself dictator? it’s my title at LazyAssWasteoid InDusTrees. i am AN dictator, not THE dictator. unless there isn’t another ceo slash executive who prefers the title. in which case, by default, i would be, the. dictator. i can’t be the only one. someone should put out an inquisition. a what? an investigative commission. ah. absolutely. dictator flings our meat about wildly as both projectile, applicator tool, exploratory scout, and matchmaker for itself. good luck with all that. hey thanks. we can all use luck.

you still trine tah has a bb? yes. please. babies are adorable and baby-making is fun. true dat. not that i don’t have momentary family wherever i go. you do. we’d like to take up permanent residence somewhere. semi-permanent. ehehehehehe. PUNS INTENDED!.

post this before it gets stupid. fuck. TOO LATE!

lol. sir, i don’t think the people will mind.

i picked the fauburg marigny because it sits next to the french quarter, and it’s a historic district full of transplants. yes, there is what some people call gentrification here. there is also intersectionality, and this city moves. it’s a good hiking city. it’s a great biking city. the parks are beautiful. the music is essentially non-stop. go find the places you like. i am an odd duck. i hang out with other homeless outkasts. sometimes job havers, but not always. i am back at my home-base who dat coffee cafe right now. i don’t think i’m going to make that dressing tonight. might bike to the bywater. really? yup. you’re just going to declare that all your delectable foods are locked securely in the food truck place. as we do. oh good, you’ve disassociated again. we never really associated in the first place. are you sure. or was it that we never diss associated. we never diss anyone. that’s rude and unnecessary and could get one rightly killed. amen. amyn. arwyn. today was a good day. we needed one of those. yes. we should have another one tomorrow. yeah. we should finish this one good, too. i agree. biking, then? we may just have to.

i’m running for president of the united states. please write in tyler tavy kelm mertes on any ballot spot where it is allowed and where you think i would do a good job. i am here for the common good, and to make really beautiful human children with someone very different from myself. sweet. let’s go do that. tonight? you have better ideas? not really.

love you. that is, THE order.

peace,
t

letters

•2014-04-17 (Thursday) • Leave a Comment

to:

  • dad

  • integra

  • chris

dad,

if you show up without bringing anything that i need, just your typical smug face, surprising me without notification, i might beat you to death on the spot with whichever limb i tear off of your retarded pathetic torso. are you prepared for death? at the hand of your son?

you could offer to help me on one of my projects. any one of them. oh, yes, that will require actually looking at what i have been doing on the internet and thinking about it, which i know you are viciously opposed to doing. you can fuck off and die, for all i care.

how wouldn’t my terror of you only have grown since we cut each other off. however, and whenever we did that. i still have this phrase i heard you say, more than once, echoing through my head. this, “i’m just pimping you.” do you know what my literal interpretations turn that into? it actually meshes nicely with my horribly lonely experience in real life. this is the horror movie version of my life story, and you are the star monster. you give me nightmares, father. i’d rather not see you without supervision. YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON ON THE PLANET FOR WHOM THIS IS THE CASE. oh, probably mom, too. you people are awful. terrible, evil humans.

if either of us were sane, i’d tell you which parts to bring from storage, and you would help me turn my house into an electric drive, off-the-grid, pedal-powered houseboat. OR AT LEAST SEAL IT UP SO I CAN NOT FREEZE TO DEATH AT THE EARTH’S NEW NORTH POLE WHERE YOU JUST RECENTLY DECIDED TO MOVE ALL YOUR SHIT. no, yeah, i know. it’s america. i don’t get a say in anybody else’s life, even though through the course of human history, family members shared family businesses with family members. YOU WON’T EVEN TELL ME WHO YOU CONSIDER YOUR FUCKING FAMILY TO BE, AND I’M DAMN SURE IT DOESN’T INCLUDE ME.

seriously, fuck off and burn in hell if you don’t want to help me. the truck needs new brakes. this kind of task terrifies me. i know you know how to do it and it would be easy for you to help me. I ALSO MET A DECORATED VETERAN WHO OFFERED TO HELP ME AND YOU BEING HERE WOULD GIVE ME A LEGITIMATE EXCUSE TO CONTACT HIM EVEN THOUGH I SEEM COMPLETELY UNABLE TO DO THIS WHILE I’M IN STARVATION CONSTANT EMERGENCY MODE. hell. the rejection from your shitty retarded poor poison-ingesting “family” has left me in hell. thanks. i know you’re completely deluded into believing the present economic/political system which basically murders-for-profit is only in need of “slight modification,” or “reform,” which is another reason you cannot be trusted. YOU. CONTINUE. WORKING. FOR. OUR. ENEMIES. profiting by death, personally. supporting the brutal rape of the planet and all of the control-by-upper-crust-fiscal-minority WHILE YOUR OWN KID HAS PLANNED OUT A MULTI-STAGE, MULTI-PART MEANS BY WHICH YOU COULD ASSIST CREATION OF SUPERIOR SUPPORT SYSTEMS FOR HUMANITY WHICH EVEN INCLUDES WORTHLESS SCUM-SUCKING HUMANS LIKE THE BACKWATER RETARDS THAT YOU CONSIDER FAMILY. jesus fuck. i hate him. i don’t hate anyone. DAD, I HATE YOU. YOU ARE A DEAF STUBBORN PROUD JACKASS. JUST LIKE THE REST OF YOUR COUNTRYMEN, YOU ARE A PUFFY-CHESTED SHELL OF A MAN. just like me.

stop talking to that worhtless asshole. i’m shaking. just like the TIME HE PINNED MY ARMS AFTER ASKING FOR A HUG, AND THEN LAUGHED DEMONICALLY. I WANTED TO CUT YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF WHEN YOU DID THAT AND UNTIL YOU BEG FOR FORGIVENESS FOR THAT ACT, I CONTINUE WANTING TO REMOVE LIFE FROM YOUR BODY.

integra

hey. sorry i never call, if you’ve ever wanted that. i assume you haven’t, and i apologize for remaining in your life, if even only for such a tiny portion of your life as facebook likes and distant past memories. i hold you in high regard, amongst all humans. i was immediately drawn to you, and with few exceptions, everything you have done has made me love/want you more. i apologize.

so, i bought you a house. yes, the one i’m living in. i did a set of roofing jobs while living in my dad’s house, and i bought this $2500 “recreational vehicle” that is the only thing that has kept me alive for the last few years. i don’t remember whether i’ve said this explilcitly here, but my initial thought was to get a house “for us,” but since there was never really any “us,” it really makes it yours. in addition to the delusionality of purchasing a recreational vehicle for someone who doesn’t want anything to do with me, is the assumption that as soon as you take posession of this cute little truck house, you won’t want me anywhere near it any more. i don’t blame you. you can live like a queen in this thing. i live like the retarded homeless asshole that i am. take it off my hands, seriously. i don’t deserve shelter.

ok, i’m back. tweeting break. i’m sorry to include you with this letter to my father. you’re related, in that you’re both critical to my development as a human, and people i thought, at one point, would be integral to my progress. i didn’t want to assume anything. i can’t stop thinking about you. nobody has gotten closer to me since we spent time together, and something tells me you’re part of the reason. at least in my mind, my imagination. it is a cruel and vicious curse, having an active imagination, in a place where peoples’ consent is completely disregarded as the default. i think my brain successfully transitioned to consensus, but without a karass, it’s just me being a fascist dickhead all by myself. i know, right. one of the many reasons you cut me off. i can’t blame you for anything. him either, actually.

suppressing your own venom for other people is not healthy. it festers. i have no venom for people who don’t want to be around me any more. it is only those who say that they want to share life, but refuse to do so that irk me. you have led me on no such path. i appreciate your honesty.

i keep thinking if i just write then some of these thoughts will solidify, and i will have some sort of direction. it doesn’t happen. i have this one idea, to build off-the-grid mobile boat homes out of the scraps of car culture, but the floods haven’t arrived yet, and the gas hasn’t run out completely yet, even though we’ve all known that we’re running on fumes for years. it’s like that saying about how the best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. the second best time is now. google the author if you care. there are probably many variations.

ok, i know i’m a completely useless, helpless homeless person who is living in your house right now, and that taking ownership of it will basically require my death, so consider this public notice that you are the rightful heir to my home should i meet an early demise. wouldn’t want you to have to actually communicate with my living self. i wouldn’t wish that on anybody.

chris,

i have no idea where you are, but i’m sure you’re doing better than me. if you died completely alone after years of having a horribly painful disease without pain medication, you’d be doing better than me. that doesn’t really have anything to do with anything. i think we were friends once. you were probably one of the only truly accepting friends i’ve ever had. all i remember is you kicking me under the desk in third grade, when i decided that nate was a cooler friend. yeah, the dead guy. i also remember walking around the football practice fields tripping you and pushing you down on the ground. there are few things i still feel guilty about. this is one. i made all my friends run away. it’s just what i do. please forgive me. i had no idea, still don’t. how to befriend people or accept friendship or just not be a complete asshole constantly. perhaps i’ll learn before i die. probably not.

nearly everyone else. thanks for watching me stagger around pointlessly in excruciating pain. seriously. thanks for working for my enemies. thanks for supporting death industries and mocking anything collective, healthy, organic, or any ideas that originated with me.

after i die, edit and sell all my words or pictures, if i don’t manage to destroy all of those before i go. plenty of them are too far away for me to get to, and i’m completely destitute and miserable, and have been for years. and, let’s be completely honest here. none of my “artistic” works are worth anything, because i already gave them away for free. at least under capitalism, that’s how it works. but then again, y’all are the reasons we’re still under that paradigm anyway. apologies for being the messenger that points that out.

this is horrible. yes, we are.

addendums: e-mails to dad

1: are you planning a trip? alone? im still pretty furious at you for a laundry list of reasons. i can’t afford to go back to wisconsin now, not that anyone there HAS EVER GIVEN A SHIT. show you around town? all the places I can’t afford, or the dumpsters that feed me? i really don’t think you know what you’re asking, and i don’t know how much of you i could take. I understand the family way to respond is to treat any standing up for myself as complete rejection. what exactly do you think of me, anyway? my ideas are all online. i’ve asked for your help before & you essentially told me to go to hell. my dreams. my art.

what do you want from me?

2: why would you withhold this information from me until now? did you forget that i’m not allowed in the family any more? I REFUSE TO BE YOUR VERBAL PUNCHING BAG EVER AGAIN. all your visits with me or anyone i care about will be momentary & strictly supervised. if you didn’t want this, why do i consider you terrifying? get over your bougie clever self. i could use your help. THIS HAS NEVER NOT BEEN THE CASE. are you still there? laughing at my pain from afar. here, have some more pain. MAYBE WHEN YOU’VE CRIED HUNGRY COLD & COMPLETELY ALONE FOR A FEW YEARS, PERHAPS YOU WILL RESPECT WHERE I’M COMING FROM. in order to salvage the requisite respect from me to get any of my future time, you’re going to have to learn about where I’m going.

3: no, dad. my life remains pretty shitty. all the resources required to fulfill my dreams are still tied to patriarchal greed & proprietary institutions written by racist classist assholes hundreds of years ago. i waste all my time speaking publicly, & the terror-drones giggle awkwardly until i leave. It’s a wonderful life being me, always has been.

what the FUCK do u want. clearly, not to share information. cram ur hope. aand, if that so-called “love” is conditioned on having to listen to your smug, condescending voice, you can keep that, too.

thanks for the limited-use funds when i owe u over twice that in liquid. u r anti-helpful

i don’t trust anyone, least of all u. i have a shit job i hate, no friends or supporters, & everywhere I go I’M SURROUNDED BY RETARDED ATROPHIED USED-TO-CARE FASHION POLITICOS WHO THINK SENDING MESSAGES IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN MAXIMIZING INFRASTRUCTURE.

I’m still a ranty, retarded jerk. Glad ur over ur elipses phase. I’m still clearly very angry at you. i have panic attacks about that unlawful imprisonment disguised as a hug. i sleep with a knife on me. have for a while now.

look, our family is pathetic. I get that. It doesn’t bother me EXCEPT WHEN IT HURTS TO BE NEAR YOU & U REFUSE TO STOP ATTACKING.

as far as I can tell, you’ve never understood anything about me. pride blinds u, & you drive on, full speed, over some imaginary road that was always a lie. the narrative doesn’t fit the narrative.

your voice echoes, “im just pimping you” & i imagine u drugging me to be raped by your friends, brothers, & dad, somehow continuing the morbid profiteering through the recent past. everyone is lying to me. the question is, what about.

if u want me to lower my opinion of you, keep contacting me.
t

how can i be going to hell? my brain has been that most of my time on this plane.

keep the faith.
be the love.
peace.
t

tree fitty

•2014-04-16 (Wednesday) • Leave a Comment

ok, forget the electric for a second. what if we went with the “drop a tree fitty inner” option? yes, we could totally do that IF WE HAD ANY MONEY OR SKILLS OR A TREE FITTY TO PUT IN ERV. calm. yes, ok.

 

Kentucky Gag Order – Aristocrass

Pearly Sweets & The Platonics – i like it raw

 

those songs are not about you.

i know.

they’re related to you.

i know.

but they’re not, about. you.

ok.

 

in my head, the number of songs my presence is responsible for approaches the number of scenes and one-liners taken directly from my consicousness/life, approaches infinity. more later. 6:55 pm, 3/31/14

 

4/5/14 rain

 

the temperature regulates itself. this is a good climate. these are healthy ecosystems, but they could be a lot healthier.

 

what are we working on? *pastes into started log draft*

 

DICTATOR’S LOG, STAR DATE APRIL FIVE TWENTY FOURTEEN

 

grandma looks good. thanks.

 

my brain’s proposals to itself for how to spend our time get muddled. i overheard a person describe things as “ratty” and “dirty” within 20 seconds. YOU RACIST FUCKS ARE WHY I’M IN HEADPHONES ALL THE TIME. yes, dismissal based on lack of upkeep is racist af. classist too.

 

being a hermit is practically illegal, but the way hermits are kept out of conversations is vicious cruelty. YOU CLAIM TO CARE ABOUT ACCESS FOR THE “HANDICAPPED” BUT YOU CONTINUE TO EXCLUDE EVERYONE WHO WON’T JOIN ONE OF YOUR OFFENSIVE CATEGORIES. time fascists. oh, i have to be there at the exact same timeas you if you are to communicate with me at all. forced to share auras. forced to listen to UNNECESSARY HATRED OF MINOR THINGS AND DISMISSIVE COMMENTS ABOUT ANYTHING OUTSIDE OF THE PURVIEW OF YOUR PATHETICALLY NARROW WORLDVIEW. sheesh. i know.

 

we have been busy lately. this songish noise is a lovesong to nawlins, the marigny, & those beautiful kids in the purple house. bless your hearts. then the universe rewards me with the bird party of bliss. i am designing my house over here. i still have no money, AND STILL NOBODY LISTENS TO ANYTHING I SAY BECAUSE MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY CONTINUE ACTING LIKE I’M NOT A PUBLIC FIGURE. you’re a hermit. die, ok. just, die. that which you think i am, is wrong, because i fluctuate away from whatever your tiny hateful little brain comes up with to describe the multitudes of my beingness. i am a reject. as in, I HAVE BEEN REJECTED BY who, exactly. p much everyone. go away.

 

no, YOU have to tell your peresonalities to leave because they prevent you from getting anything done. your mother would be proud. pride is such a useless emotion. no it isn’t. yes, it is. the projection of responsibility for that which emerges despite you? HEY, LOOK, EVEN THOUGH I BOTH VERBALLY BEAT MY OWN CHILD INTO SUBMISSION AND FORCE IT TO ENDURE CAPITALIST INSTITUTIONS, IT STILL MANAGES TO CREATE THINGS AND FIND OCCASIONAL HAPPINESS IN SLAVERY. are you done. II HHAAVVEE HARDLY BEGUN!

 

erv skins/scripts/mods/versions

  1. crimped/riveted aluminum cans

  2. grown

  3. printed

  4. 1983 Toyota Huntsman Mini RV sleeper

  5. tree fitty

 

final draft features of fully functioning home/transport

  1. floating

  2. flying

  3. silent

  4. solar

 

so, the base model of this tiny house that i’m living in right now can fit a chevy 350 in the engine compartment. if i wanted to fix it up and sell it as an antique show car, this is the most likely way to up the resale. are you sure? no, i’m never sure of anything. ok. it will go faster, then? probably. it has a four cylinder R22 engine now, with a four-speed manual transmission. would we have to swap out the transmission too? we? we get a mechanic to do that. what? mechanics need pay. this is hopeless. how would that be any different from anything else in your life. good point.

 

why are we even wasting processor cycles on this engine swap conversion? just sell it. start from scratch with whatever cash you can muster. buy an electric drive vehicle with the right footprint and go from there. it’s right. you need your meds. and how. we have more thoughts on this, though. no kidding.

 

everyone i know thinks they must inevitably die, and all they want to do in the meantime is get drunk.

 

friday, 4/11/14. 12:34 am.

we may be able to find a v6 to put in erv. can we extra-noiseproof her? yes, she should be quiet. the boat, though. yeah. i wonder how much is a barge to float everything from storage down the mississippi. no, people should road-trip it down here. we can assemble her in various driveways and parking lots around new orleans.

this is all i have, this house. this blog, this twitter. this youtube. when we upgrade this phone, we can install a fresh os. it’s not jailbreaking if it’s an android.

the tree fitty will pull any trailer. do you know how expensive gas is? why can’t we just put in a seven-speed transmission? is that an idea? yes. we keep the r22, we set her up to run propane, and we turn her air conditioner pump into an onboard compressor. are there seven-speed transmissions? no idea. we can’t afford one anyway. true. brainstorming is stupid when you’re destitute. everything is. stop. we have to be at work tomorrow. noon. we should drive. yes, charge up too. i have been bleeding myself dry. we took some decent pictures down here. melba.

the novelty of this idea is wearing off. someone has one of these engines and wants to help us install it. you don’t know they don’t. probably someone we know. what do i want to do? get a dog. play music. it sounds easy. it is easy. why haven’t we done it yet? i don’t know. that’s worrisome. don’t. be happy that we know this much at least. now. sleep. ok 12:51 am

ideas for money (5:55 pm, tuesday, 4/15/14)
sell bags on ebay
military frame pack
large multicompartment backpack
soft canvas/leather suitcase
messenger bag
computer bag
wheeled carry-on suitcase
use backpack to carry stuff somewhere to play and ask for money
guitar/singing
print art as business cards, or to sell as art.
write “hiring the wasteoid”

this is a useless interjection. SO ARE ALL OUR INTERJECTIONS. and how. currently listening to the Brutal Truth album “Extreme Conditions Demand Extreme Responses.” i don’t know if that’s true. extreme in what sense? HOW IS EVERYTHING WE DO NOT EXTREME IN MANY SENSES. true dat.

ok, i am a charity case. i don’t need an eight cylinder engine. you do need a trailer and a ton of gas money. hardly. a bike garage. ok.

we need something faster than this. stop stalling. erv starts, she just takes some cranking to prime the fuel line. there has to be a better way to do that. something hidden, so nobody else will be able to start her. one of those inline bubbler priming pumps. pump this until you see fuel through it. super. we still have to PAY FOR FUEL. stop yelling, we’re selling erv. what? yeah, what? did dictator approve this? stop. we have been in firesale mode since forever.

we should accept donations, and then take the best stuff, and sell the rest. donations? ALL YOU DO IS MAKE MORE WORK FOR US CLEANING AND FIXING JUNK. haha. yeah, i know.

so the first brick & mortar branch of LAW Industrees will be nawr linear, too? who the fuck knows, honestly. do we limit this stuff by zip code? i think not. WHEN YOU’RE AN INTERSTELLAR FOOD/HOUSING/TRANSPORT/MAINTENANCE SYNDICATE, YOU GO ANYWHERE YOU ARE NEEDED/WANTED. are we that? i don’t know. i mean, legally don’t call us anything yet. we are still a brainstorm. we need a lawyer. WE NEED AN ARMY OF LAWYERS. well, the accountant got off it leash and we never heard from it again. there has to be a way that we can get federal money or SOME KIND OF MONEY. what do you want money for? property. just ask for property then. ok, and fuel, and beer. we are in the wrong state. lol. and how. 6:29 pm.

good, got it to laugh. dictator been thinking about bridge decapitations and cliff-launchings of miniature recreational vehicles too much lately. get something to live for. lol. thanks, brain. that’s helpful. fingers type, don’t blame me. lol. we seem to be having internal difficulties. BRAIN, ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY FOR WHAT YOU MAKE FINGERS DO. sheesh. fine.

6:45 pm. we seem to only type when the internet goes down. i thought we had lots to say? we do. should we start “how to hire the wasteoid”? yeah, probably. new entry? yeah, this one is a mess already. well, we might as well include it here. why? it parser. we should start making pages for the limbs. what? why? because nobody can parse anything for themselves. and, you’re not writing the parsing crawler/scraper, so this just looks like an unedited mess. THERE IS NO FOURTH WALL, THIS IS MY THOUGHTS IN FULL THAT’S ALWAYS BEEN THE POINT OF THIS. lol. ok.

hiring the waster.

high. first thing in the morning. aand, not necessarily awake each day, by morning. able to lift heavy things repeatedly, move mountains of earth with various tools. requires full disclosure.

we are an escort, aren’t we. mostly. that means LAW is an escort service. part of it, i suppose. different requirements than the organic farm and value-added food processing limb, eh? probably.

i should show up with a resume, wearing the fanciest clothes we have. we’re still us. good point. i don’t want to have to do anything that makes my phone ring. here we go. HOW ARE YOU GOING TO COMMUNICATE WITH PEOPLE REAL-TIME IF YOU NEVER USE YOUR PHONE? yikes. texting is using my phone, but you can wait three seconds to respond to a text. phone call is simultaneous time usage, necessarily. if there were someone i didn’t mind communicating with, i wouldn’t mind taking a call from them. that being said, someone i didn’t mind communicating with WOULD PROBABLY PERFER TEXTING ANYWAY. you know nothing. duh.

ok, so i was crying in the rain again last night. my favorite parking spots were taken, so erv had a rightward lean, which sandwiched my head & shoulders between the wall and the pile of warm blankets that i have kicked into a pile while always finding left-side parking. one way streets. yeah, before that, early evening, i put her in front of a woodworking concern which uses those spots daily. i so don’t want to get in anybody’s way.

8:11 pm. i find it difficult to believe anything that you say. ok, would you believe this: i haven’t had an actual job in years. farming is not actual work. oh, it’s hella work, but you will get minimum wage, if that. you made like two dollars over minimum wage, which, admittedly is not a living wage, but nobody thinks you’re worth a living wage if you’re homeless. you don’t know how easy it is to disregard me. i can’t fight back. i don’t. i won’t. i tell people this and they’re terrified. they think to themselves, “if they’re anything like me, every last person on earth will take advantage of you” and i’m like, yup. most of them do. the job having ones anyway. other homeless people are pretty chill. so are their dogs. domesticated peoples dogs are as messed up from being inside all day as their owners. owners? if i ever get a dog, it will be a partner of mine. a family member. yes, it will have the power of block.

dead milkmen are good. yes. rastabilly.

once i had a job working with a bunch of other foundry rats. at plant one, i got piece work. the pieces were time-rated so that a relatively quick processor could grind/clean/inspect/get-paid about 150% of their base wage/speed. in plant two, the regulars took the excess piece work i helped with. don’t make me go where there are only boys/men. they hate me like a turncoat. uh huh. i can’t claim rights as an anything. human, perhaps, but even that. every person i encounter expects me to have had shit handed to me. this is false. people see me working for free, and let me. no payment. if i do work for payment, i do more. i am taller. i’ve been told i think faster, but i’m not so sure. i think differently. how can i explain that which i have no comparison for? i have only lived my life, and most things that most people say about how people are, do not seem to be true of my reality. does that mean everyone else is a liar, or that their statements assume some normality in the subject/object of these statements? now i don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. are we making business cards? apparently not.

we could put our papers up on some online place. we could. then again, once we put every thought i’ve ever had the occasion to write down up in a publicly accessible location, what? we do that mostly anyway.

draft facebook post: dear “friends: please a) like my campaign page b) recommend improvements to my campaign that would allow you to do this c) fuck off and burn in hell”

they don’t deserve that. oh really. you’re not starving. you keep gaining useful junk that you could sell. ok, a sane person could sell it. my brain won’t let me actually do things. this is a thing, this typing. this tweeting. haha. the internet isn’t real. no, it’s real. you’re unfit for human consumption. even to those who have consumed me? apparently. listen, i don’t make the rules. i just think i’d be better at it than the violents who run everything everywhere. the rich have been made to share before. we can do this again. yes, we.

oh yeah? you and who’s army. you’s army. closing up. 9:19 pm. more junk for here. ok.

midnight snack

•2014-03-29 (Saturday) • Leave a Comment

dNa is silent supercomputer.
silent typing.
bionic ears screams full. all typa sound applications. sonically aware. spatially content. currently in love with many things, i also love a lot of other things, oh yeah. 12:12 AM.

i take a lot of selfies. what? my mirror has a freeze/capture. you can keep telling me things. after i put my earphones in. i escape fully, from within the same room. it’s a function of being the most/least ignorable.

lightning and thunder in new orleans. it’s a function of global dynamics. fractal synthetics. ACCURATE PRECISION YOGA CALISTHENICS.

we keep checking the character count, & it doesn’t exist. i think that means we tweet too much. poorbabbly. the more automatic dictionaries spell for me, the more i imtentionally misspell werds. i think some of us are polarity responders. are we really as disassociated as all that? i can’t tell. it’s a figure of speech. so, a lie. it’s an analogy. it was a test that i failed miserably because that is my lot. my job. if you would like something else to be my job, hire me for that.

i thought we were taking up the washboard. oh yes, i’ve been encouraged to busk my way to financial freedom. by a fiddler without equal. 12:39 AM 69% battery.

fiddlers. i love you.

even when i stay in, i get noise and light shows. i would chop off my spoilage in a heartblastbeet. finna heart dat squeak. spinner art mast fleet. the circus in my head is ready to explode.

hoax. shenanigans. fraud. warmind lies.

buildmind creates.

Features of erveline:
electric drive, regenerative braking
flywheel/gyroscope generator/pump/pto
wankel multifuel generator/pump/compressor
liquid-cooled onboard computer
directional wifi antenna & rebroadcaster
certified kitchen
solar forge/oven/water/air/photovoltaics
biodigester & woodgas generator with scrubber/storage w/compression
water hammer water heater
vertical wind turbines at corners
human assist (pedal, cables, levers, cranks)
rocketstove fireplace/water heater
hot tub & sauna
rainwater collection
noise shroud/cancellation/disguises
exterior projection screens
detachable autonomous house
nesting trailer

flatbed electric/kinetic/multifuel racing truck
toolbox, tent, stove, cooler, winch, load conveyor, dump box, hydraulic lift/fork/bucket.

i want to be able to get everywhere for free. and, like fast. it’ll probably end up looking more like buckminster fulller’s dymaxion car. but collapsible with detachable primary drivetrain.

did i mention she’s also a houseboat? yes, many times. good. unforgettable.

1:26 AM. rain again. more thunderstorms. lightning.

went out in the “worst” of it. got wet. stencils & sprayed dye/stain/paint. of bands. new/old favorite banned’s.

why do u not go anywhere? i see what i must. deserve u no better? 2:22 AM. i remain surrounded by angels wherever i go. rain picked up again. WHEN YOU LIVE IN AN ALUMINUM CAN, GODS BLAST BEATS’LL SUSTAIN U. ahahaha. still no character count. most databases that have character limits for fields would benefit from character counters. good programming teaches users everything they need to know. erv will do this.

replicant.
erv will have the capacity to duplicate herself. some assembly required. she breaks down to backpack-size chunks. she looks like a bike trailer compacted. interlocking rolling meshes? yes. nanohinged collapsible floats/sails? yes. sailing down the highway, picking up speed, the computer tells us we’re charging the batteries. we giggle. erv deploys the scouts, the wing bank, the propellers, & the balloons. the cabin pod rises up cables, she catches an updraft & the whole rig is airborn. groundscout gets video, then picked up by airscout. let’s go find a river to float on. good call.

broccoli raps

•2014-03-25 (Tuesday) • Leave a Comment

broccoli wrap & a slice of pepperoni

pizza. delicious.

live music archive is a thing. on the internet. i don’t understand why everyone wants to restrict their art to the people who were able to show up in person, and the people who pay before they know they like it, and the people who have, as my father would say, the reverse midas touch. everything turns to shit. money disappears. oh, like alcoholism or competitive materials with barely the resources to survive oneself. pull out all the stops, we orchestrating the lot o yah.

so, have i told you my life story recently? one should do that with every new addition to the family. yeah.

born 9/9/76 in wausau south hospital. raised in the township of scandinavia with an iola, wi address and phone number. knew i would be the valedictorian of my graduating class in third grade. was. weird pervvy nice boy. not really competitive. you are my test audience, my only test audience. you make me happeeeeee, wan skies argh grey. ask the people i did that part of my life with what i was like then. i don’t know. same as it ever was, probably. lots of unclaimed hardons from beautiful things left out in public. what do you want from me?

so my campaign centrals around money, if you have been paying attention. you know this. and business, legalities. sourcing of knowledge and whatnot. stages are not for me. give us the inclined plane, or give me def. leopard print on my bb house truck seat covers now WOT UP GRANDPA!? oi, you are an odd duck. still.

to generate for and within oneself a universal appreciation of humanity, one must see, with loving clarity, the acts of any one channel of life, as perfect holy godlike. if you want to be fatalistic about it. we are a minimalist noise theatre of the grind. err. mined. you know, like strip mining? yeah, we roll out pre-seeded netting and do touch-up work, and the food forests will have brought numerous species back from extinction by using the cornucopia of local, edible, and full-canopy-expressing food sources. i have more to eat. think on this.

8:06 pm, Monday, March 24, 2014

we camp out in the deserts. we bring in water however we can, and we carve catchment into the sand. we grow edibles. we grow shelters. we cover this beautiful planet with a network of green spaces, transportation/information infrastructure. the basic concepts are repeated everywhere as reminders. how do we get those? we use the best ones that already exist, and we make them better. any works we use make their originators and subsequent discoverers alike, our kin. they are to be compensated, with a community-generated percentage of any excesses generated by any subsequent works. if i don’t get minimum wage for my contributions and CITED USAGE of your art/concept/works, you have potential customers able to find you now and in the future. it’s a big world. there’s a lot of music that’s been made, as one example. i enjoy hearing it, for the first time, live and in person, and in a way that i had not concidered would sound so deliciously wonderful before. why thank you. i love you.

oh yeah. life story. uhh, my senior english paper in high school was “how to build a nuclear bomb.” ohh, it’s probably in the archives somewhere. they didn’t lock you up and throw away the key for reading books about bombs, or war history/technology, back in 1995. mr. zeglin, the teacher who approved that topic, wrote me a recommendation to get into yale. what a strange dance the college entrance process was. i don’t really know what kind of regard i was held in. for the senior raspberry awards in college, i was voted most likely to return to campus when the olsen twins were admitted. in my head, i was like, “oh yeah. when they are college aged, they probably will be pretty cute.” ask them. i don’t know. get it on video for one of the documentaries. oh no. oh yes. ed tv and the truman show got nothing on my imagination. erv2b is a movie studio. soundstage. ok, yes, there will be orchestras. i just can’t afford them yet. and, can’t buy me love. these things get stuck, these things get unstuck.

you see devestation, get sad, and FENCE OFF THE AREA SO NOBODY CAN FIX IT. seriously, i saw the sines, & it om penned up mai mined. eye saw tea signs. b here. uh.

twitter is one of my finest artistic works. i finally have contemporaries in something. community-generated love. yes, ok, i was going for actual supporters, bb mamas, & house upgrades, but whatever this sloppy mess of a clown show thing is, i kinda like it. i really like it. i love it. i love you.

that lil john video is hilarious. turn down for what. fatties getting sexy.

good lord, i have turned into jobber the hutt. lol. packing love handles. it’s time for a fast. where is a beach i can bum at? i can sleep in a tent on the sand. i want to stand on the waves not on land. and my time everywhere has been grand.

i kind of want to work, but mostly i want to snuggle. when hasn’t that been the case? i don’t know. ultrafascist slop. good one, shaggy.

*opens tweet archive from september this*

first tweet: https://twitter.com/picoferal/statuses/19111094070
second: https://twitter.com/picoferal/statuses/19522750509

losing battery. peace :D

i had a strange reaction to my sister’s most recent blog post. i’m beginning to actually pity her for the fact that her awful husband died and left her rich & single with two adorable kids. rather than be furious at her for going along with the family’s plan to completely cut me out of the family. they’re abusive people. yeah. so? abusive people a) are abusive because they were abused, victimized, before they could do or say anything about it. before, in fact, they knew what it was; and b) own property, too. are conscious entities, too. are human beings capable of thought and change.

that being said, mom and dad are pretty awful people. most people are pretty awful people. you’re petty, abusive, and deleriously malnourished. not to mention addicted to your abusers. whatever. i love you. you can’t join the family business if there is no family business. the concept of family is moot if everybody joins. right now, the use of cash as medium of exchange unites us. all we have to do now is cut off the new supply of it (cash), and throw the hoarders in cages. it’s easier than you think.

so, what do you think i am. honestly. the worst, possible, thing that you think of me, have thought of me, or have actual evidence of me being. hahahahahaha. in legal reality, there are exceptions (19, 20, 21). i want to know. i want to hear. you all seem to want to wait until i’m dead before speaking to me again. WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU that was anywhere near as abusive as what you did to me? every capitalist took advantage of me, being poor. they felt entitled. my father forged my signature. my mother opened my mail. my sister gave me a key, AND THEN TOOK IT AWAY NEVER TO BE SPOKEN OF AGAIN. uh huh. you don’t remember anything, do you. i remember pain. i remember needing to escape. america is an abusive dystopian hell, everywhere. don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. the american dream is a marketing tool to enslave middle classes as panopticonic security guards of the vast tracts of land outside of urban areas. dictator sticks to urban areas because there are actual peaceful, educated, caring humans who keep an eye on the movements and actions of the police. out in the boonies, retardo-bullies rule. c’est la vie.

why are you so viciously mean? because i’m alone. abandonment anxiety. most mortals would be traumatized by what my life has been for these last seven years. i ran for president and all i got was ignored disowned and ostracized. ahahaha. no, you got a few twitter followers. oh, right. them. hi, twitter. i hope my having lived under your roof shows you how i am everywhere i go. i do the best i can, always. seriously? yes, quite seriously. i don’t jokingly assert false things, and i would appreciate if you stopped doing that in my presence.

the internet went down here. i’m at a new office. flora coffee. i have $218 left. i am panicing. ahahahahahaha. you’re always panicing. people claim to care about my survival, but then they don’t do anything about it. oh, i should remind you about it, since your gross relative wealth could easily spare enough money to let me survive. what’s the point of you surviving, anyway? i don’t know. did you ever know? not really. why else would i offer up my infinitely valuable time to take on the most thankless job ever. people who don’t care mock me for caring. people who care mock me for not doing it like the ones who are doing it wrong. exactly zero do anything to promote me to their social networks, online or in person. are you sure of that? no. do i ever get invited to speak anywhere? do i get interviewed by publications? now you’re just being a crybaby. right.!? and what was i doing before? good one.

your writing has taken a nose dive. are you saying it used to be better? what if you had an editor. yes, that would be another person actually using their time to help me in one of my projects. i thought the universe disallowed that. well, it has, apparently, but that doesn’t mean i’m not open to the possibility. i put everything that i need for myself in public. the rest of this stuff, someone else might want. the ideas get implemented, if not at a snail’s pace, so who cares whether i get credit? STOP SAYING THAT WE SHOULD BE GOING PLACES AND MEETING MORE NEW PEOPLE. stop. we are ok here. we are not out of money, and if we throw in the towel on this head-pummeling endeavor, there are places who would probably hire you. give up on my dreams? what choice do we have? selling knick knacks is still participating in the waste-generation. there is no honorable work other than food. that’s a bit extreme. what about the advancement of humanity? what about the healing of political systems. well, until the oppressed are willing to accept the fact that they are oppressed, they’re not going to do anything to change any of this. you could exploit a black market for fat stacks of cash! no, i can’t. couldn’t. wouldn’t.

what about porn? what about it? you would do porn, right? sure. like, as a job? does it pay? would anyone hire/film me? you have no idea. you have to ask. we have to be recruited. oh. great. for that, too? don’t demand that i explain myself. i don’t get it either. YOU’RE THE ONES WHO BELIEVE IN THIS PUTTING-SOMEONE-IN-CHARGE BULLSHIT. all i’m doing is applying for the job.

i’d be the best at it, you know. i know. you haven’t forgotten that. of course not. other people believe this about you, too. yes, well, they seem to want to keep that information from public view until i die. do they know they’re contributing to the odds. of that. how the fuck could they not know? easy. nobody learns by osmosis, and until you do some of the things that other “politicians” do, they will continue to ignore you, forcefully, right to your face. then we are at an impasse. stalemate. nobody wins. what else is new?

so, last thursday, i got my propane tank refilled at the u-haul right across the tracks. you tweeted all this. NOBODY ELSE ADMITS WHO THEY ARE ON TWITTER. gotta keep up that job-havy-front, eh? something. yes, i tweeted a picture of my truck’s freshly painted propane tank. the people at amerigas told me to do that, and it worked. it will prevent corrosion. paint is a structural element. SLAP SOME PAINT ON EVERYTHING IT WILL BE FINE. how is this retard in charge. i don’t know. where’s dictator? no idea. what? the boss left? i don’t know what to tell you, he’s not here. are you sure we’re not a character in a novel? it’s a movie. not yet, it isn’t. i thought we had committed to being the anti-tv? adding video to the ever-expanding set of video already in the world is not how we do that. oh. words, though? the data is lightweight. it’s all we have. it’s all we can afford. we can’t really even afford this. not to mention dental services, our medications, or a place to sleep off the street. ahahahahahahaha. oh that. suck it up, soldier. the power vaccuum that would result if you were to quit would further destabilize the global economy. oh now you’re just giving us ideas. quit what though? taking pictures? being online? WRITING IN PUBLIC?

ahahahahaha. death can’t come soon enough. i know. see ya.

k.

 

 

 

 

the sainte claude[fatoush/byrdies/redhouse] accords/contract

•2014-03-19 (Wednesday) • Leave a Comment

constantly restrictive budgeting, or is it? that’s precisely why you don’t keep records of that sort of thing. 6:28 pm.

took 74 pictures walking up and down st roch parkway. sky, buildings, trees. the cemetery.

my initial reaction. was one of reverence. is, one of reverence. every creature here, and by that i mean animals everywhere, and the vast majority of city people, are kind souls. granted, there are plenty of tv people, too. but, those that disconnect long enough to catch a glimpse of ye olde dictator in its duties are surely the rare breed. as in, don’t cook that food, it tastes better closer to alive.

life update: moved erv back to the undisclosed location. eating gourmet pizza & drinking good coffee, and water. local tap water. no water-borne pathogen can pass through me undetected, and i am healthy as the horse is the new chinese year. happy belated chinese new year of the horse, everybody. what up china? what up la limpics. ahh, fracking sprotbawls. competitive loser-creation. whatever you kids are calling it these days. im listening to yacøpsae, why do you ask? now, tanz grosny, tanz…

this internet is not the most reliable. must be a lot of heads on the router. and, you know, ye olde bandwidth bandit. stop saying “ye olde”. yeah whatever.

love as art. i have no disagreement.

strange longing. a sort of hunger, but not.

the sainte claude[fatoush/byrdies/redhouse] accords/contract

lazyasswasteoid industries contains a network of tool libraries. to join as a storage facility or workspace is to gain access to any of these tools, in any of these spaces, subject to participant veto/assurances/etc. full consensus. blocking without assistance subject to frowns.

*takes break to rip/encode gBaby cd*

this battery isn’t going to last long. true.

i am looking for a materials stash site, a tool locker, and ala carte electricity/space. i am as willing to help on others’ projects as people are willing to help with mine. i can climb, build, type, troubleshoot, brainstorm, and art. you’re beautiful. pardon me could you spare a smile?

absolutely. :D

11:39 pm.

4 pm, 2/10/13

i had an idea for a post. cisgender, i would call it. it would be the lock-step fascism of the binary mindset. this is a symptom of party politics, isn’t it? yes. it should reflect that. it is espoused by all genders. all, are you sure? is self-loathing ironic? does irony heal? i don’t think that’s a good idea. because you conflate rape culture with cisgendrism. the two are intricately intertwined. so are the deviations created/sanctioned/protected by the church. the casting out of another is the problem. any other. the system must have a place for everyone, or it will be hacked to pieces by those refused survival necessities.

exclusion culture creates monsters, by definition. stop doing that. find a kinder thoughtspace for each person you meet. i don’t know about any of this. are you defending dead people again? was i ever? it has been raining on and off all day. you can’t do this thing without jumping into it. it sounds forced and awful unless you get into character. i don’t want to think like an owner. an owner? an owner of another’s sexuality. oh. partner, parent, or outside observer? i don’t know which is worse. shotgun wedding, or other violent analogies. that sucks, fuck that. you’re vile. no, the drunks in sports bars are vile. this is fragmented as fuck. stop using that word. the roofs of school busses are painted white down here. this is passive solar. ok, except for hammond transportation’s busses.

erv. we need to focus on our own home. you can’t tell me what my brain prioritizes. you can’t tell anyone. do you know what kind of paralyzing cognitive dissonance happens when you tell someone that the thing they want is sick? is wrong? all i’m saying is that it’s an awful thing to do to a person to reject them at such a fundamental level. has someone done that to you? people rarely do anything to me. roof brackets are huge down here. they’re the same size as everywhere else. they’re popular. they’re integrated into many building designs. why aren’t banks and gas stations and fast food restaurants subject to the same fascist building designs as buildings for humans to sleep in. airflow, evaporation, sunlight. no, everything is still built to industrialized car culture spec. people’s favorite neighborhoods are full of huge old trees. we can reverse engineer all of this.

proposal: grown structure on your empty lot.

first we design the space. passive solar everything. constant use building/timeline. we start with temporary structures. vehicles, tents. we establish living spaces, then we surround them with intertwined permacultural food forests, we connect them to naturally and artificially occurring heat and cold sources. yes, we layer everything. THERE’S A LIBRARY IN MINNESOTA THAT GOES SEVEN STORIES UNDER GROUND, DON’T TELL ME WE CAN’T WATERPROOF IT ABOVE SEA-LEVEL FOR ZERO ADDITIONAL COST. that’s pushing it. yes, we push doubts. up and out. THOSE WHO KNOW ONLY FAILURES OF PAST PROFIT-DRIVEN DESIGNERS ARE TO GIVE UP THE FAITH OR BE EXCLUDED FROM ANY DESIGN PARTICIPATION. what was that you were saying about exclusion culture? yes, they’re connected. why should anyone be tolerant of only-harm? of organism-cannibalism? mother earth is about to buck us off, and the warmongers are still in charge IN YOUR HEADSPACE. we don’t have a budget. what is there to be afraid of? things not looking like a manicured baseball field? oh joneses. this top is a ferrofluid drive. she gonna throw her weight around. the machine give her no choice, so she do what she gonna.

5:05 pm

5:16 pm, 2/12/14.

the marching band is practicing around this block. who dat. it’s the closest thing to home i have. besides the post office, libraries, and the streets themselves.

6:42 pm, st. valentine’s day.

rollercoaster much? good one. work was alright. big pile of chocolate-covered almonds, malted milk balls, & date rolls made it better. i like that girl. i like a lot of girls there. women. boys/mans too, actually. for people, it’s a good crowd. i’m sorry i was so off today. it’s ok, you weren’t. my valentine’s days are all just dull pains of loneliness & fap sessions. i don’t have a partner to miss. by putting these days on pedestals, all that happens is ostracism. pain triggers. reminders that NOBODY HAS ANY HAPPINESS MOST OF THE TIME SO WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LET THE FEW PEOPLE WHO ARE GETTING LAID CELEBRATE THAT FACT BY RUBBING EVERYONE ELSE’S NOSES IN IT. oh stop, you can generalize it to the non-baby-making love. go research the holiday. false. christianity is the devil. there are useful analogies in it. there are also pain triggers and loneliness reminders. we need to talk about something else. we need to pee. plug-in? i have nothing to write about.

if i were to categorize myself, then it might prevent me from seeing attraction to a future potential partner. you see what the tendencies are. that doesn’t really mean much, given time/space constraints. who do you like to stand near? listen to? look at? i like slight rejects. scrawny mutts. vicious little critters who could eat me for dinner, but don’t because i scritch like a critter that enjoys being scritched properly. go outside. leave the laptop, and walk around. bring two beers, and wander. i know you’re tired, you’re going to be even more tired when you get back in a few hours. go love your town. go love yourself. go love the sidewalks, then come home & love your bed. k. (finally cries) 6:59 pm

7:36 pm. Sunday, 2/16/13

never intervenes. watches. assumes you know how to handle this, and if you don’t, you should know. or will, but mostly, clearly do.

today i spent most of the day in a stupor. hung over, chicory/pizza/hash buzz. i don’t know how to do anything, right? i go places people say they dream of. i live there. i dream of the same places, diversified and inclusive, thriving. you call yourselves sound junkies, but the infernal racket of internal combustion never ceases. i thought we were going to put documents up on the interwebs. right. we do that. this is fun.

3/5/14 6:21 pm. Fatoush

the phone is going nutty. no, it’s just full of data. clear it off. right. ok, the videos are going into archive. 25 minutes remaining. i have hooray for the riff raff in my head a lot. saint roch blues. i have to get to that cemetery again during daylight. i’m not very good at catching daylight. she said something to the effect of, “you’re not in a position where you can’t become not homeless again,” and i replied something like, “i sure feel like that sometimes, if not most of the time.”

i am serious about a cooking schedule. i am serious about a dishes schedule. if you want me working in some spaces, it precludes certain others from being there at the same time. if you’re not helping, or consciously staying out of the way, or on your own mindset, you may not, you cannot, occupy the same space as me when work has to get done. THERE ARE ONLY SO MANY HOURS IN THE DAY, for tasks that require daylight, a roof over your head, or alternating current. there aren’t many tasks that fit all those requirements. that’s ok. i live solo. i have most of my life. YES I REALIZE IT SEEMS LIKE A LONELY LIFE, having standards. it leaves me a lot of time to think, and to write, and to listen to beautiful music, sometimes over and over. we have to do a cover of this song. minimalist crunk grind is a lifestyle, not a music genre. i am all the genres. oh. great. lol.

what was the point of this entry again anyway? another proposal to the commons. we do a lot of those, don’t we? people like this customized to their own particular set of “friends/enemies/etc.” hahaha. i know, that’s EXACTLY WHY WE DO THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT THOSE EXCLUDING JERKS REQUIRE. stop yelling. why, i like yelling. nobody can hear me if i don’t yell. wrong, they can’t hear you when/if you’re yelling. you overwhelm the hearing/sense organs, and the whole thing just shuts down. that’s what happens when you exclude certain demographics, types, of “self-descriptions” which anybody considered a “legitimate” person refuses to acknowledge. we just shut down and start yelling. my friend josh’s button put it best, i think. “excuse me, but you’re standing on my penis.” don’t tell me it’s not that extreme. DON’T TELL ME TO SETTLE DOWN IF YOU’RE THE ONE WHO WORKED ME UP IN THE FIRST PLACE. STFU & LISTEN TO HOW YOU SHOULD REFER TO THIS NOW. oi. ears. stop, you’re reading. five gigs should transfer faster than this. i know. this computer is slower than your mom. lol. pretty as your daughters, tho. can i just say how much i love you. ok, you and your entire family/tribe/heartspace. that’s what unconditional love is, there’s pass-through trust. how’s that? it works like this: if i love you, i trust you. both, in your choice in people, and in your ability to hold those people to the same standards that you hold me, yourself, and everyone else. we all have to set this standard. i think here, there’s a custom at badger games, if someone is being a drunken jerk in the stands, everyone starts pointing at them and chanting, ASS-HOLE, ASS-HOLE, and if they continue, you have a big circular swarm of humans pointing and chanting in unison. they stop. you don’t want to get on the big screen for yelling at your friends and family, classmates, and other well-wishers of the beloved colors. KEEP IT ON THE FIELD. oh, the nationalism of sport. sprotbawls is not the answer, and has very little of use, at all, in my experience.

wind generation systems have built into them, an overflow. when it’s windy outside, they generate SO MUCH EXCESS ELECTRICITY, that it must be dissipated, or you will literally burn out your wiring, ruin your batteries, etc. in one sense, i think this is a massive design flaw. understood, that one may fill batteries, but to not have a recoverable energy source built into the system? that is waste. yes, the vacuum contains infinite potential, and powering things on the puny scale of working light, space heat, and rotational energy for every conceivable purpose on this puny planet is not that great on a global scale. let dictator start editing video, and we’ll see the windstorm power get put to full use. let the electron friction heat as much water as we can put through the system. did there emerge a point from this paragraph? sport is an overflow mechanism. nobody, or, sorry, A MINUTE PERCENTAGE OF HUMANS ARE INVOLVED IN ACTUALLY USEFUL THINGS ON THIS PLANET, unless you count the food ninjas. ok, yes. farmers & foodservice people deliver a lot. i am actually an advocate of mechanizing more of their “jobs,” but whatever. overkill in all things is how nature does it. redundancy is how a systems designer would describe it. the food on the grocery store shelves isn’t necessarily a measure of the health of the system. isn’t it? i don’t actually know any more. we’re clearing a lot of data off this phone. space for more pictures, is why. i have generations and generations of my work as a photographer all stored in one portable hard drive. haha. talk about all your eggs in one basket. not really. we put a lot in the cloud. probably will more, now. workstation with mouse, arrow keys, and full keyboard. we copy and paste a lot, and android doesn’t do that very well. it’s all, hold and wait, and i want a dedicated keyboard combination. its application-switching capabilities aren’t too bad, though. ARE YOU A COMPUTER PROGRAMMER OR A POLITICIAN. we all have to be both. to do both. we all have to do all the roles. at least long enough to understand their interaction. and, respect for those who do the things we do not. so, the musicians who you fanboy for all your life. exactly. and the other art-producers. see, hollywood “producers” seem more like fund-raisers being conflated with project managers. these aren’t necessarily useless jobs, except that the money sources are pure evil. because, this money thing is a limited commodity. WE SHOULDN’T ALL BE BURNING IT OFF LIKE “EXCESS” ENERGY WHEN SOME PEOPLE STILL HAVE ZERO INFRASTRUCTURE in terms of square footage. cubic footage, whatever. you ramble a lot. YES, I KNOW, AND I THINK PEOPLE APPRECIATE THAT ABOUT ME. ugh.

so, i trimmed my beard down today. i’m pretty. happy with the results. :D i still have to do the whole lawn mowing of the body hairs, tho. i think we’re going to take everything down to #2 with the clippers. that will be about 5 pounds of body hair then. HAHA GOOD ONE. not really.

i can negotiate in person, sort of. negotiating isn’t real under capitalism. how’s that? because the tone, rules, and terms are set by the party with more power. the thing demands too much “manliness” to be taken seriously, which excludes most of us. MOST. OF. US. are excluded. you think that’s odd for a “white” “man” to say, but that’s exactly why i continue to assert that your limited conception of co-anything is EXACTLY THE PROBLEM AND THE REASON FASCIST WARMONGERS STILL RUN PLANET RETARD SLAVE. cripes. sorry. four minutes remaining in the photo transfer. cool.

7:24 pm. 7:39 pm. data transfer is complete for now. topping off the phone battery.

first tweet, and the last of the most recent archive.

https://twitter.com/picoferal/statuses/378262185488547840

incomplete thoughts, posted in full.

BRAINSTORMING IN PUBLIC.

hehe. k. lates.
t

 
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