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.
those songs are not about you.
they’re related to you.
but they’re not, about. you.
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
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!
crimped/riveted aluminum cans
1983 Toyota Huntsman Mini RV sleeper
final draft features of fully functioning home/transport
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
wheeled carry-on suitcase
use backpack to carry stuff somewhere to play and ask for money
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.