Boasting & Roasting

A warm thanks to those kind souls who click like on my weird poetry.  I really appreciate that, because I consider them like word salads. I love making salads, but I’m consistently better at the edible type. Both of these salad varieties I make from true love of craft, which is really the only way to go for me, because then failures become almost meaningless.  I can’t imagine what might stop me from always trying again.

But poetry is just fun for me.  What I really do for (a) living is create delicious beauty and abundance under pretty tough circumstances and often alone.

What I actually mean is:
I coax and nurture nature to feed our bodies, minds and souls!
What’s your super power?!!

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Welcome to my office!

I’ve had loads of failures already in the garden this year, and it’s still early. Under the constant attack of man in the way of weather warfare and in the terms of nature, who feels the assault as well, of course, but takes it out on me, personally.

Mexican sour gherkin
Mexican sour gherkin, normally a heat-lover and such a cute plant to grow, but showing stress already.

Just as the first crop of melons were coming ripe voles or moles took out 6 of 7 plants. I out-smart them this time by planting melons in a few locations, and at different times, but some sort of mite has just found the second patch and their population is exploding practically overnight.

Then they took over the cucumbers and are feasting on the eggplant leaves too! Greedy pests out to torture me vicariously.

I always avoid spraying any manufactured chemical in the garden. Sometimes I have to do something though, or it will all be dead in a fortnight, and right before harvest after so much hard work. The bees are all over these same plants too, which is why I tend to wait too long and hope the problem will just go away.

When I do finally cave, I go for an oil/dish soap mix that’s actually pretty effective on the mites but gentle on the bees. I do it early in the morning on an every other day schedule between overhead sprinkling. We do not (but will, I hope!) have a well, so that is treated water going all over the garden constantly, because the weather terrorists have stolen our rain, again.

Someday, when there are more folks growing their own food, weather will matter to them again, and they will realize it’s being manipulated and they will join me in finding this practice completely unacceptable. That’s my big dream anyway during this best Apocalypse ever.

My current nightmare is the drip irrigation and the grasses. We will be evolving our design, again. Boxes lined with heavy duty wire mesh everywhere. Probably no grass at all, eventually. Those damn rodents also got a bed full of jalapeños, the parsley and some lettuce. We’ve lost countless young fruit trees to them, too.

It’s a really good way to teach and learn strategy and problem solving, and it never ends. Gifts of Ba’al, as James True likes to say.

My current paradise is in the salads—growing them, crafting them, sharing them. I’m getting a bushel full of cucumbers every day. I got so sick of processing green beans I’m letting them go now for fresh and dried beans. That’s another reason I love these gorgeous ‘Blue Coco’ beans, they are so prolific and can be eaten for months as young, mature, or dried. Unfortunately they are also showing signs of great stress, which considering it’s in the 90s every day and there’s been no rain for about a month, it’s not surprising.

Blue Coco

I always let some of the greens and herbs go to seed. Not only do the bees love the flowers, but the tips have loads of flavor and add an attractive addition to salads and soups.

The blackberries are still coming in heavy, and, drum roll please, we’re days away from salsa season!

Trombetta squash flower

My new favorite garden addition is Trombetta squash and I haven’t even tried the fruit yet. I love it just because it’s so beautiful and it’s still flourishing, even though all the zucchini and yellow squash died before producing anything. I’m convinced after years of failure that they cannot be grown here organically without far too much headache than they’re worth. That makes it all the more thrilling to find a squash that just might make it into the rotation.

Trombetta squash vine

If you’ve never experienced going grocery shopping in your own garden, crafting it up your own unique way in your kitchen, and sharing it (even if it’s just with the pigs because it didn’t turn out that good) you’re missing out on what I consider the most satisfying work I’ve ever done.  I’d have to be dragged kicking and screaming back into the office, or the classroom, ever again.

And that’s another reason why this is the best Apocalypse ever!

For any of y’all who want to talk real weather, meet Mike Morales.

The Frog & the Scorpion

The Frog and The Scorpion: Revisit 2020

But, that’s just what they do
You might as well have
Compassion for the moon

Just go sip by the well
Oh, but, that’s not allowed now
But of course, they do mean
so very well

By the water cooler then
Sorry, I’m afraid
that’s not allowed either

But, that’s just what they do
You’ll adjust
We always do

Frog said you know space is fake
Scorpion said I know
Shut up so we must can enjoy the show

Frog said Remember when I said
How much I trust your thread
That seems odd to me now
I can’t imagine how

Anyway, it doesn’t matter
it’s all about the wow-lol-cow
that brilliant here

Yet not exactly now
Nor new

Just repeat casting of
Yet another shoe
Throw it in with
that same old stew
and JUST BELIEVE
it’s NEW!

Hate Is Nothing To Fear

If you think those rioters hate you
or
those others
whoever they may be
hate us
you’re confusing hate
with desperation

Similar to watered down compassion
Similar to love and sex
When you give it out to everyone
just willy-nilly
What value is then left
that’s not just silly

If you hate the man who’s desperate
He covets your life, your wife, your gloves
So much so he snuffs through strife
Your very common sense or
decent fool’s lament

You might see
Hate is just inverted love
As fear is just inverted heart

Courageously
You think you destroy their art
And history
Jacking monuments and sucking tears
Striking down all meant dear

So Blake has never met your ear
The iron hand crushed the tyrants head
and became a tyrant in his stead

Hate has only passion
For you to fear
Don’t confuse hate with desperation
Hate like love has everything
Yet nothing
For you to fear

Passion, word of the devil
Come and take it, with me
very deliberately
Our sacrament
I need your consent
In case some day
we need repent

Let us hold it
Together
Compassion
The bravest only
Or the most clever

That I withhold
I do
Because my passion comes
Then lasts
Forever

The Wandering Jew & the Lucky Bamboo

The Wandering Jew & The Lucky Bamboo: A Fictional Conspiracy Theory

Do you understand the plants are made just like that? Compare them to the ones that were like, painstakingly crafted?

If you knew there was a difference, would you wonder who crafted it, and how, or even why?

Did you know the sandwhich, the olive, the vodka, were all crafted? Of course you did.

But did you know also was the potato, the tulip, the rose, even the honeybee?

That I hate going to the dentist is no mystery. But in some States, particularly in the South, it seems, sedation is an option. Now I hate going to the dentist slightly less than before, as in all my way too long functional memory. On the gas, there is some enlightenment, as you’ll see.

Twice now I’ve been to the dentist since the Plandemic, because I have dental issues since childhood, not to mention dental trauma, from the choking fluoride treatment molds that tormented me every six months for a decade. That I found these treatments horrific is considered a mental weakness on my part. That my mom paid for them from her hard-earned wages, and trusted them, breaks my heart to this day.

Now they’ve required me to sign a checklist that I have no symptoms of the Covid during these last two visits where only the gas, and lovely company of kind women, guard my fragile acquiescence .

At these days they’ve also insisted on taking my temperature via a digital thermometer directed precisely at my 3rd eye.

That is, the pineal gland. Little do they know, I’m sure, the conspiracy theories that surround that teeny-tiny gland. Right behind the directed laser pointed right there, to which they are given a number, as if that is the only signal that instrument is designed to relate. And as if they would know any other reason why this instrument is now being more normalized than the obscene body scanners at the airport.

I hate dentists, so much so that my latest dentist is my heroine. She gets what honest dentist-hate is like. She commends my stoicism in the chair, bless her heart. I honor her sacrificial hours and delicate sensitivity which I recognize as akin to artistry. She really is someone worthy of far more than her title. I like her, and I’m not being even remotely sarcastic. I can hardly imagine what it’s like to be a woman like that.

“Feelings are considered to be internal human structure and architecture.  But what you imagine and create are far more important—and the creative process radically and naturally changes feelings in a positive way, as a side effect.” Jon Rappaport

On the gas, I reflect, and tears flow, beyond my knowing, how. They are so kind, they see, they don’t define. Are you ok? Yes, I am, right here, right now, I am ok. And I see how flimsy that is this sedated happy feeling in the here and now.

Are you? Are y’all? Is that enough? Is that ok? Do you load yourself with duty and then pray you’ll sleep and have enough still to spend another day?

Would you have enough pity, prana, love, care, energy, to say . . .

Would you really like to know what it was like for me, in the pit, today?

I did not get the impression s/he did. Bypassing is our only call of fame. From the pedestal the pit cannot be understood. There is no degree of compassion that might pacify the pit.

Because you see, in the pit, your compassion is where I most love to shit.

That you preach how I should feel makes it that much more worse
But you praise and anoint yourselves with kudos and more books

It is an annoying block to enlightenment for those who perpetually misunderstand. And are misunderstood.

“If I do not describe the details of our work it is because we were busied with things which lie beyond speech and which therefore elude the spell that words exert. But everyone will remember how his mind has labored in regions which he cannot portray, whether it were in dreams or in deep thought. It seemed as if he were groping for the right road in labyrinths or sought to unravel the figures among the patterns of an optical illusion. And often he awoke wonderfully strengthened. This is where our best work takes place, and so it seemed to us, too, that in our struggle speech was still inadequate, and that we must penetrate into the depths of the dream if we were to withstand the threat against us.”

The cynicism that regards all hero worship as comical is always shadowed by a sense of physical inferiority.” Occulture: The Unseen Forces That Drive Culture Forward by Carl Abrahamsson

Madeleine Albright Is Back, but She Is Still Living in the Past | The National Interest — MCViewPoint

Your eye roll, and your compassion for these sociopathic tyrants, is your acceptance. It’s why and how they are still in power decade after decade, investigation after investigation, trails even, they’re still here.  Compassion with criminals is commiseration.  Drinking from the poisoned well does not make you immune.  No germ theory calls these bitches the germs.

And next I’m going after the sacred cow called Shirley Temple Black.

“What’s the use of having this superb military you’re always talking about if we can’t use it?” Never mind the lives of those who volunteered to defend America. https://nationalinterest.org/blog/skeptics/madeleine-albright-back-she-still-living-past-153751 by Doug Bandow Madeleine Albright is back with a new book to sell. Interviewed in by the New York Times magazine, she reminds us how she continues […]

via Madeleine Albright Is Back, but She Is Still Living in the Past | The National Interest — MCViewPoint

Ladies

Let us be Ladies again
in order to inspire our men
to be better gentlemen

Men of salt and oil and
so much soul
S-Oil
oh that very soil
Our Loves
of soil and soul

Dark and scary
Light and airy

Let us not wag the finger
nag the ship or
fly false flag
insisting or resisting
instead of covet
the most tender snap or snip

What trap not of
merrymaking illusion
and fairy faking
but of resin and honey
and propolis glue

Weaved in sweet grass
where the I meets, truly meets, the U
what if we had nothing better left to do?

What if, honor met catastrophe and
delusions finally got the best of me,
and thee
Where then would we be?

Ladies
Let us be Ladies again
Weaving softly in our den
but still conspiring with lies and plies
Yet now with big open and wide eyes

So subtly different yet
still crooning with intent
No longer mesmerized by parliament
Our firm roots detect our firmament

What honor might we seed
Legions might we lead
Rifts might we unite
Sigils might we light

Ladies,
might we someday be Ladies again?
And, if you say yes,
could we please be friends?

Hot, But Not Bothered

It’s dry and scalding hot here and no, it’s not natural or normal, it’s geoengineering.

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We got the rainbow, but not the rain. What’s up with that?

We’re trying to stay cool, but the heavy metal nanoparticulates in the air magnify the intensity of the sun’s heat and I’m sure the ionospheric heaters don’t help either.  But apparently a small percentage of mankind will not be happy until they control every aspect of our world and the weather is right up there at the top of their long list of micromanagement agendas.

Like pets, the rest of us are left to accept and adjust to their incessant meddling.

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Problems breathing? Chronic allergies?  Memory loss?  Lack of energy?  Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll make a pill for that, if they haven’t already.  Pay no attention to that crazy, hazy sky.

When the apathy and ignorance of the populace weigh too heavily and the sociopathic power brokers have crossed yet another line in my sandbox, I marvel at the strength, determination, ingenuity and resilience of nature and I reignite my High Hopes.

Here’s one such example I wanted to share, with my sincere apologizes that it was not filmed in a cleaner space!

And here’s to those High Hopes!

ALTERED STATES: Why We Stay Asleep When Covid-19 is Trying to Wake Us Up – By Kelly Brogan M.D. & Sayer Ji — RIELPOLITIK

“But what happens if we never reclaim ourselves from this imprint? What happens when the feelings that surface when we reconsider allegiance to those big, looming authorities that we imagine could crush us if we don’t comply? This is the pattern of intergenerational trauma we see running through the lineage of humanity now, where unexamined trauma leads to a fugue state of dissociation from self and intuition in service of a preserved trust and loyalty to parentified authorities.”

Source – kellybroganmd.com – “…Propaganda can be delivered as a mass public relations campaign, hidden in plain sight to manufacture consent. At this point, every single consensus narrative — on climate change, 9/11, the suffragette movement, war, HIV/AIDS, vaccination, and yes, today’s pandemic — is a smokescreen for deeper agendas that we have been strategically […]

via ALTERED STATES: Why We Stay Asleep When Covid-19 is Trying to Wake Us Up – By Kelly Brogan M.D. & Sayer Ji — RIELPOLITIK

Homestead Happy Snaps

Just another loungey Sunday on the wee homestead and sharing some of the love with y’all!

The dogs are off for a swim in the pond, their favorite time of day, right after breakfast and dinner.  The pastured pigs come up to greet the group, hoping we brought treats, no doubt.  They are looking much more slender now that they are only foraging.

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Papi’s back on track, thank heavens!  After a big scare, where we were planning for his death, a great resurrection now follows.  We took him back to the vet, they replenished him with fluids by IV, and coaxed out a football-sized hardened stool.  I know this issue was caused by the prescribed meds, so this time when he got home with a new set of pills, we threw them all in the trash.

He’s again his old sassy self and it really does seem like a miracle after how despondent he was—wouldn’t eat or drink, was vomiting and not pooping, would hardly move, wouldn’t even whine or bark, though he’s normally very expressive—we really thought he was checking out for good.  He’s back and still trying to lead the pack.

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The garden is growing great, the green beans and melons are looking particularly impressive this year (so far that is, never count your melons before they hatch).  I’ve just harvested our first cucumbers, with tomatoes soon to follow.  The bees sound as pleased as me!

Speaking of bees, I can now confirm with a fair degree of confidence that my high-risk hive split last month was successful.  What made it high-risk, in conventional beekeeping protocol, was that there was no queen, I didn’t re-queen at all, rather I intended that the small split-off colony should raise their own queen themselves.  There was not even queen cells present in the brood I transferred, only capped brood and larvae.

My beekeeping goal is replicating genetics that suit our needs and desires here on the wee homestead: semi-feral colonies whose first purpose is pollination, second purpose is sustainability and study, third purpose those glorious products—honey, wax, propolis, pollen, etc.

For this goal I choose to split from our “ninja” hive, but don’t let their nickname fool you.  They are not ‘mean’ like the nickname might suggest, and two other hives here are FAR meaner.

Rather, they are natural warriors.  Maybe this is because during the ‘tornado’ last spring their home was turned upside down.  Or maybe because I experimented on them with a screen bottom board, which meant they had to fend off attackers constantly from multiple fronts all summer, the warm winter and early spring.  Or maybe because they are right next to our house, where there is constant traffic from critters, mowers and us.

All I know is, this team is tight, because they’re so busy with all their other tasks, they leave me in relative peace in order to meddle in their ranks.

And speaking of queen bees, at least in the canine kingdom, Buttercup is exercising her own maternal instincts, on our new chicks.  It seems she doesn’t trust her brother, Bubba.

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Buttercup: “Don’t worry Daddy, I got your back.”
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Bubba: “Mmmm . . . Snack size!”

Whereas once upon a time Buttercup crawled in submission from 20 paces, then rolled over immediately once within sniff-range of current Queen Tori, I expect there will soon be an active rivalry.

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I wonder when someone will finally come to rival this old queen?  Someone once asked me when we first moved rural, “Why do you need so much land?”

Seriously?

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