Aug 18 2008

08-18-08.odt  Last night was a sleepy maze of very troublesome proportions—potentially, anyway. After the regular late afternoon's wood-splitting session, I had retired to my bunk at dark; to, as per usual, seek out something interesting on the radio, while, maybe, casually reading or writing something until I tire enough to stretch out and get comfy and await the snooze time soon to follow. About the time I was out—maybe in the 2 AM hour—a giant ka-boom of thunder overhead loosed my grip upon sleep. This was repeated throughout the remainder of the night until it began to lighten and the thunder drifted away and I snoozed comfortably until about 11 AM. I stayed in my bunk, minus piss-calls, until near 4 PM, as I was feeling about worn out and useless from my wood-rendering exertions of the past many weeks, and had designated today: this day: as most-sensibly being a day-of-rest for me. * *  I had almost totally neglected to realize that all this haze of wood-gathering and rendering has been going on, concurrently, with the rising-to-full, then recession, of the full moon time; a time I usually prepare myself for, consciously, with deliberation, with gentle but insistant warnings to myself that I better exert extra vigilance with respect to being and staying safe by always remind-ing myself that it is in that window of the full moon time's extra-sensory influences and additional energies to tap in to, if one (such as me) can 'relate' to this concept, which I believe to have enough significance to how the living of one's life can become effected by these, mostly, extra-sensory sensations-of-perception and body-of-experience, as pertains to how these extra-energy associations with the fool moon time seem to explain or express themselves within the confines of this mind of mine: my thinker. * *  Thank goodness, my do-er manages to bleed off enough of thinker's shenanigans and absolutely (usuallier than not) fallable rumblings and boingings . . . with such non-traditional . . .? No. Hell, traditional as hell; but today's modernists term my humble physical outpourings as menial and pretty low class. Men and women, and children even, have been thunking away upon wood hunks since almost before time began, to use a figure-of-speech. My continual whacking away upon hunks and chunks of tree sections is a thoroughly-accepted natural to my way of thinking, seeing, smelling, and etcetera. So natural, that I can only do what this affinity expresses, in the manner and ways of what I make my body to go and do for what, I guess, my thinker is organizing and pulling off when it takes its body along on a ride for him to do some physical work for the poor boy, who just has way too much time on his hands (and brain), and can't seem to want to do other than just lie around and think all the time. “That sucks,” say old mister body down there, as well as in here: inside from where all this urge to continue typing away upon the keys of this keyboard, and for what? * *  My feline companion of the past 7 or 8 years died in the night during the thunderstorm. She had been exibiting the telltale signs of having lost her immune system's control over all what she has to deal with in her half-wild-yet life: Eating the heads off of birds, mice, rats, and chipmunks . . . but my feeling is that, after a lengthy steady additional diet of store-bought chemically derived cat-food kibble, she got mad cat disease. What transpired with her, directly mirrors what the horse and donkey went through in their last three or four days as living breathing beings, with feeings and intelligence beyond what most humans seem to be able, anymore, to recognize in them. I've also lost four or five full-sized turkeys, all toms, over the years of living with them, to this same syndrome of getting increasingly more and more lethargic before forcing me to have to go dig a hole in the hard ground to put their stiff bodies down into. I'm surprised that I, even, haven't come down with mad human yet. But then, my avoidance of old dead foodstuffs has put this near seeming inevitability for probably, at some point, effecting all us po' humans who're just too ill-informed to understand what the implications are inherent in eating non-food. Geez! I mean: Have you ever just walked along the edges of the roadbeds of the freeways and observed the inches and centimeters of tire-dust buildup layering the ground. Rubber and nylon dust: Tons and tons of it! And neither probably very healthy to be inhaling . . . as well as, of course: the noxious and toxic fumes . . .