Zombie Whispering Green Wizard Permaculture Rougue Druid Aikido Ninja

Zombie Whispering Green Wizard Permaculture Rougue Druid Aikido Ninja
Reality or pessimism? I've wallowed in pessimism for years fighting the insane under belly of our society. EMS shows you what is real out there, in the darkness, where the portable internet cyborgs can't even look away from their gizmo long enough to see that there is a sun. It's blazing with heat and what the Earth needs for life. We just have to capture it and direct it into life rather than using the Earth's blood to destroy everything. Follow your bliss and the authentic life will find you.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

The First Diner Convocation

In 2007 I read James Howard Kunstler's The Long Emergency, and my life changed irrevocably due to the information I received from that book. Shortly after, I joined the Kunstlercast forum and posted many threads and had many in depth conversations about collapse, peak oil, and the ramifications of our infinite growth on a finite planet paradigm. I also began digesting collapse related books with precision and efficiency, and I would often order five or six books at a time by authors like Richard Heinberg, Dmitry Orlov, John Michael Greer, Michael Ruppert, and Jared Diamond just to name a few. Figuring out what the collapse of our modern petroleum dependent civilization meant to me was no easy task. I'm an Aspie, so it wasn't an emotional affair for me to deal with, but it was stressful nonetheless, and collapse became a "special interest," and it's a special interest that is still current for me. Mostly because I'm unable to not abide in the truth of things. It seems this to is part of my Aspie brain (I'll be writing about Asperger's Syndrome much more in the coming months because I have just recently stopped being in denial about the diagnosis...but this particular blog is not the time to do that).

I was a daily contributor over at the Kunstlercast, and it was the first forum I'd ever been a member of. I greatly enjoyed communicating with like minds on that forum via the written medium. I fell in love with it actually, and the regular contributors became my friends (which was great since IRL friends are difficult for me to acquire). This was a set of people whom would talk about the truths surrounding PO with me for hours on end, which is still next to impossible to do with people IRL. Threads that would stretch for days and days. I was a conspiracy theorist at this time in my life and had been for about five years. The "Kcats," as we called ourselves, helped open my eyes a bit about the nature of conspiracy theories and their many half truths. Around 2009 or so I got tired of the same old shit being discussed over and over again via countless incarnations on the Kunstlercast forum. It got boring and I decided to leave the forum without a word about it really. I just sorta left one day and never went back. I also deleted my facebook account around this same time and focused all of my writing on this blog.

The only blog I was reading at this time was John Michael Greer's Archdruid Report. He came up with the concept of the Green Wizard, and a forum was devoted to the project, which I frequented for a while. I had shifted my focus from understanding the nature of our predicament to wanting to act on the information. What became important to me was the answer to the question "what am I going to do about collapse?" The Green Wizard Project (GWP) was exactly what I needed. The GWP was mostly designed for solitary green wizards, and it was about using appropriate tech and about developing strategies that would help with minimizing the impact that the Long Descent would have on the GWP participants. The psychological component of the GWP can be summed up by JMG's own acronym "LESS." Less entertainment, stuff, and stimulation. JMG advises us all to step back into voluntary simplicity and learn how to live more in tune with the natural world and it's cycles and it's renewable pace. I became a Druid as well. For the next couple of years practicing green wizardry was sufficient for me as a response to collapse, but that to began to change as my understanding of our predicament began intensifying.

I realized that the only chance of survival in a shit hits the fan scenario, or even just a long descent scenario, would be real community. As far as I can tell, real community has gone extinct in our imagadget, narcissistic, techno delusional, American Hologram deployed and Matrix controlled consumer waste generating stank of a society. I had found fellow blogger William Hunter Duncan's blog, Off The Grid in Minneapolis, via a comment he left over at the Archdruid Report. William resonated very strongly with me (which interestingly enough, William now works with autistic people as his job). I began following his blog, and he began following mine. He may well have been the first "follower" of mine on this blog. We became good virtual friends and even exchanged books we were writing for back and forth criticism and suggestions. He told me about a new forum that he was an administrator for called the Doomstead Diner. I went and had a look, but I still had a sour taste in my mouth after boring with the Kunstlercast forum. I looked around and it appeared to be just about the exact same thing as the Kcast forum with different avatars. After a short visit I decided that I wasn't interested in joining as a member (and I just found out, via going to the kunstlercast forum to copy the web address for the hyperlink for this blog that I've been banned from the Kunstlercast Forum for some unknown reason).  

Several months later I left a comment on Morris Berman's blog and RE, the man responsible for the existence of the Doomstead Diner, saw it and it peaked his interest enough to come over here to see what I was about. William had commented on that blog and RE saw this and apparently formed the opinion that I may be a good match as a cross poster on the Diner. It felt good to have somebody seek me out for my writing, and I was more than happy to have my essays published on the Diner. I figured since I was going to be publishing my blog on the Diner that I might as well have a more focused look around to see what was shakin' in the Diner world. I've been an active participant and a Diner ever since. Not long after I arrived at the Diner fellow Diner Roamer arrived and posted a thread titled "Community OwnedDoomstead." That thread lit a spark that found good tinder and began smoking. Roamer knew about 150 acres in NC that an elderly couple owned and were interested in allowing more able bodied individuals to cultivate the land in permaculture fashion. My wife Gypsy Mama and son Ayden Zen and I all drove to NC to meet Roamer in person along with his on again off again lady friend. We met in a coffee shop across the street from the university my wife graduated from, and we all instantly liked each other. It was the first time I had ever met a virtual friend in real life...making Roamer an "in real life" friend as well. This was a very exciting and important step for the Diner. As it turns out, Roamer, GM and I's meeting was foreshadowing the now not too distant future. The 150 acres didn't work out on account of dementia and Cat Food Carol, but that's a long story (and you likely already know it if you're reading this blog). We came a pubic hair away from the first Sunstead (at the time it had been dubbed the Foxstead) within weeks of the first attempt that the Diner's made for a community owned doomstead.

We've since been working towards figuring out how to bioneer our way into a petroleum scarce world. We've been trying to figure out how we move forward from this point. How do we structure a new way to inhabit the land and use it's resources to meet our basic human needs in a sustainable and healing way? We don't want a commune, but we want something intentional that empowers the Sunsteaders, and gives us autonomy and meaningful community at the same time. Eventually the new effort was dubbed the SUN project (sustaining universal needs). Our driving ethic is to "save as many as you can." This translating into a tribal unit we are currently calling the "Sunstead." We want the Sunstead to be a self replicating template that will pop up like mushrooms in spite of the Near Term Human Extinction (NTHE) meme. NTHE being the idea that all life on Earth will be going extinct sometime in the next two decades (as soon as five years from now) due to run away positive feedback loops running amok in the climate control mechanisms of our planet. They may be right, but I refuse to live in a world with no hope, and I recognize that there is no way anybody can know what the planet will do. While our civilization is definitely collapsing, and while we are doing our level best to shit all over the planet that sustains us with our incessant chemical creation and consumptive waste generation, our planet is a living organism which we cannot study under a microscope.  We can't possibly know how the Earth will react.

The Sun Foundation is now a 501c3 non-profit organization, and we are currently waiting for the magic government letter to arrive so that we can begin accepting charitable donations from people like you, whom care about the reality outside of the Matrix, and our engagement with the wasteland we've inherited. In a little under two weeks a select few Diner members are going to converge on the Toothstead in Texas for the purposes of the first Diner Convocation, and for training in Monolithic Dome construction. 

The coming Convocation is proof that we're not just a bunch of keyboards circle jerking into the endless night about how fucked it all is. We want to do something in the real world about the predicament our civilization's in. The writing is on the wall, and food prices are fit to bust any time now due to drought and ever increasing super storms. I could go on about all of the problems our crumbling civilization is dealing with, but I've done that countless times here already. If you don't know what the problems are at this point than it's because you are willfully deluding yourself, or just don't have the desire to extricate yourself from the Matrix's mesmerizing hologram. We're going to meet in Texas, in person, as a symbolic act, to look each other in the eyes and validate the reality of our typed expressions, desires, goals, and to engage with reality of the real, rather than reality of the virtual persuasion. We're going to drink beer and break bread at a real Doomstead Diner table. We're going to study Monolithic construction and plant some real seeds of change. We're going to build a rocket mass heater, have a hole diggin' contest, possibly film a spoof on the NTHE movie trailer 22 After, and get to know a handful of Diner's in person. I'll be bringing my family and my boomerangs.

Most importantly we're going to ferment in a real life think tank. That's what the Convocation is ultimately about. For me, it's a vetting, and it's a chance to look my fellow Diners in the eyes (I know, ironic considering my Aspie status, but I've always been atypical even amongst the atypical...consider that the majority of the medics thought I was weird when I worked EMS to gauge how weird I am...as it turns out, not weird just not neurotypical) and see what I see. Is the SUN Foundation worth my time? Is it something that can be real? Can we actually bioneer a Sunstead, or a Waterstead, or a Foxstead, or a Doomstead? Can we actually be the force that begins fixing this clusterfuck of a predicamentation civilization? Does RE really smoke six packs of cigarettes a day? Is William really bald and in love with the Goddess? Can Eddie fix my fucked up mouth full of metal (just kiddin' Eddie...at least this time). Will Haniel and I see Aspie to Aspie and relate to one another?

I'm looking forward to finding out the answer to all of those questions. For me, the Convocation is my chance to show everybody that I really am a 6' 4" bad ass Aikido ninja permaculture green wizard druid Aspie Diner. It's my chance to look them all in the eyes, Haniel included, in an attempt to pull as much of their true intentions out so that I can shine my hyperfocused understanding of the human psyche onto them. Here's hoping we'll all be comfortable, and that William won't get his feelings hurt when I dig a bigger hole in the Texas dirt. My wife Gypsy Mama, and my children Ayden Zen and Harper Tribann will be there as well (as far as I know they're the only children Diners...hell, Harper Tribann was born a Diner). Several Diners will converge in two weeks. To hear RE tell about it, you'll all get a chance to participate in real time on the net. I hear he's bought all of the recording devices he could find. If nothing else, for the first time, Diners will break bread at a real Diner table...in Texas...and I'll get too drunk and throw my boomerangs.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Totem Shift

Jumping to the Grave

Around about the time I resigned from the Matrix I had a dream in which the fox came to me. He scampered out of the woods and made himself visible to me, and he looked me in the eyes to transfer his magic. To prepare my mind for entrance into a glitch which would allow me to mostly be left unhindered from the Matrix's control. Fox imbues the magic of invisibility in plain site. I recognized him, and his teaching, and then he disappeared back into the woods, and I woke up. It was a dream vision. I dubbed our new home the "Fox Den" and gave the fox a pedestal at Epiphany Now. About a year after my resignation a real fox was delivered to the Fox Den, and her name was Pepper (but she went by Bo Beppa). She was born from domestic dog parents, but she was no dog, she was a fox. She was the most beautiful animal I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Diggin' a fox hole

A couple of months ago I was digging in my yard, preparing a hole for a five gallon bucket full of table scraps. The area I dug in, behind a swale and berm, is the worst hard compacted clay SC has to offer. I was tired that day, and I just couldn't get the hole to the proper dimensions. Pepper loved scrutinizing my holes. She got in the hole, laid down, flipped on her back, and looked up at me as if to say "this will do," although I only know that in retrospect. I figured since she was enjoying the hole, and I wasn't going to be dumping five gallons of table scraps in it, that I would just leave it for her. My wife and I had hypothesized that she was actually sleeping in a hole she had dug in my first hugel bed. She dug holes into all of my six hugel beds on a regular basis. So I thought maybe she liked the hole better than what she had dug. At any rate, I moved onto digging a new hole in a different place in the yard where the soil wasn't quite so compact.

Around this same time I had a dream that I was throwing a boomerang in our yard. I've never thrown a boomerang before, and I had no idea what the dream meant, but I decided to go online and purchase a rang. Whatever the reason, I took to throwing boomerangs like I imagine birds enjoy their flight. It has become a meditation for me, and a spiritual practice. Boomerangs connect you to the sky and the wind. They teach you to be still and patient, especially when the wind is blowing too hard. Half of throwing a boomerang is ability to read the wind. If you want it to come back to you than you've got to first know which way the wind is blowing and how hard. Then you have to figure out how much layover, how hard to throw, which direction, how high of a release angle, and lastly you just have to get lucky (at least when the wind is blowing), and if all that is done properly the boomerang will come back to you.

We decided to get Pepper fixed around this time. She was right at a year old, and we didn't want to breed another dog (I mean fox) because we have two kids and one pet is enough extra responsibility. Getting her spayed changed her psychology, or maybe it was just because I was in the fields throwing my boomerang and she wanted to get out of the fence with me. Whatever the case, she started escaping from our yard on a regular basis. She'd run off chasing field mice, or voles, or whatever else caught her noses attention. We live off of a pretty busy two lane road. About a quarter of a mile before our house the speed limit goes from 45 to 55, and people regularly travel 60 to 65 mph.  Knuckle heads will occasionally use that stretch as a temporary drag strip. It's one of the most dangerous roads I've seen, and this is coming from an opinion informed by 6 years on a meat wagon. People get killed all of the time on this road, and near this house to boot.

I came home from an ecological design dig in Asheville NC that day. I was tired from moving large logs and Earth around for a massive hugelspiral construction we were creating. I got home and left our fence open. Pepper got out and got herself ran over on that road. The people across the street called the house, it was about 9 pm, and they asked "is your dog in the house?" No, I replied. "Well there's a dog out here on the road that's been run over, looks like it might be yours." I put my clothes back on and went out to see about it. There was a large lifted 4X4 truck pulled over with a kid no older than 20 standing there with a dip in his mouth. "Over here." He took me to where she lay dead on the side of the road. I was relieved to see that she was actually dead because I did not want to have to put her down to stop her suffering. She lay there in the ditch, with her tongue hanging out, and just a trickle of blood. Her skin was all in tact, which I still think is strange having been run over by a large truck. I picked her head up and sure enough her neck was broken. I offered my hand to the kid whom had run her over, and I said "it's not your fault man." He said "I know it's not my fault," got in his truck and sped off.

I carried her remains through the dark to that hole I had dug, placed her in it, got the shovel out of the bed of my truck, and committed her to the Earth. I cried a lot about Pepper for the next couple of days. I could still cry about her if I wanted to. In fact, weeks later, it's still hard not to. It was more than just the lose of a beloved pet, it felt like a dark magic had descended on the Fox Den. It felt suspicious and as if some intentional evil had been done. It felt like I had lost some very important magic myself, as if something was trying to take it from me. I haven't lost any magic, in fact, I have gained some. Pepper's job was complete. The fox world vetted me, and she was the instrument. Pepper was sent to teach me the ways of the fox, so that I may study them and know them. I like to think that she knew her body would eternally rest in that hole we dug together. She's there now, protecting the Fox Den always. I told our three year old son Ayden Zen that Bo Beppa was invisible now, that she is with us in spirit but that he would likely not see her again, and I took him to her grave to let him say good bye.

A new totem was to arrive shortly after the Fox was finished teaching me his, or her in this case, lesson. The robin showed up shortly after Pepper's death. I was in the garden, meditating next to Pepper, and a Robin landed close to me. The robin looked at me, just as that fox had looked at me in my dream vision. Only now this was no dream, this was waking life. I walked over to the robin and he led me around the yard for a while, not letting me get closer than five feet. That robin just hung out with me for a while, beckoning me to listen to what it had to say, wondering if I would accept the next phase of my totem progression. "I've seen you throwing that boomerang," robin said to me, "do you really want to know how to fly?" That was the question robin was asking me. Throwing that boomerang is like flying. Every time I throw it my spirit elates with the magical flight path and remains connected to it. It's as if I'm flying there with it, and apparently the bird world has taken notice.

Around the same time all of this was happening our house burnt to the ground. We were renting the house, the only house my wife and I have ever owned, the one we brought Zen home to from the hospital after his birth.  We were renting the house to renters because I could not resign from the Matrix and afford the mortgage. New renters were moving in that night, and they set a box on the counter in the kitchen next to the stove top. The element got kicked on, and 25,000 gallons of water later the fire was out and the house was gone. Nobody was hurt. Allstate paid the mortgage off and wrote us a check for the remainder of the policy. The Phoenix is rising from those ashes, and it has sent robin to teach me the magic of flight.

Just before our house burned down I decided, uncharacteristically, that what I needed was to go to the local park by myself. I drove to the park, got out of my truck, stretched, and then started running (I hadn't gone for a run in probably 7 years). It was spontaneous, and it was as if I was not in control of it. Why had I chosen to run in the park on that day? So I ran into the woods and onto a disc golf course. The path started to climb, and I had run about a mile at this point, and so I decided to walk a bit. Before I knew it I was walking along a creek, and so I sat down next to the creek to meditate. Something told me to go 20 yards to my right, up stream, and so I did, and there in the middle of the creek, a foot beneath the water, was a disc somebody had lost. I've never played disc golf, but I had always wanted to, so I started throwing the disc along the path of the course. Five holes later, and I was on the back nine of the course. I was kneeling down, looking for the next disc golf basket, trying to figure the course out. A man in his 70's appeared with a very large dog. I was eyeballing them pretty hard (probably because of the size of the dog) and eventually the man asked me "are you security." "No," I said, and we sort of walked towards each other and started talking.

He reminded me of the cover of my copy of John Steinbeck's Travels with Charlie.  Permaculture came up, as did Bamboo. "I have bamboo," the man said with elation. His dog's name is Bodey. I have a cousin named Bodey, it's not a common name, especially not for a dog, and so my attention was gotten. I had been drawn to bamboo shortly before this meeting. We swapped cell numbers and he invited me to come by his house to check out the bamboo he'd planted. A couple of months went by (in which all of the above story happened), and my wife had started regularly trying to get me to call the man from the park (Gary is his name). We were talking about installing a bamboo stand as a privacy screen, and so I had good reason to go pick his brain. Being Aspergian, however, it's damn near impossible to get me to reach out to people via phone. Wendy was persistent, and eventually I gave in and called Gary.

So we packed up our family of four, and went to a man's house whom I'd met only once several months ago. Our son Ayden Zen appears to be having difficulty with speech. Wendy thinks he may have a lisp (I just think it's cause he's 3 and a half). At any rate, Gary's wife had written several books on phonetics...what is this synchronicity? Gary and I talked bamboo for a while and then he handed me a business card that he had gotten via his love of Bamboo for a near by company specializing in bamboo. I put the card in my wallet where it stayed for a couple of weeks.

I began researching bamboo online, and then I began digging a trench to create a bamboo island. The next client for my ecological design business is a female shaman, and she wants a living privacy hedge. I'm hopeful I can convince her that there is none better than bamboo for a privacy hedge. It creates a complete visual block within 4 years. It's the fastest growing plant on planet earth. Wiki reports that bamboo has been recorded as growing 98 inches in 24 hours. This is nothing short of amazing, and science is still trying to figure out just how it's possible for bamboo to achieve this phenomenal growth. At any rate, it's apparently time for me to learn all things bamboo, and so I emailed the email address on that business card, and I asked if I could come pick their brains on all things bamboo. The business is run by a married couple. Their nursery is really not a nursery, but more of an experiment in bamboo prowess. I'll have to pick this story up in the next installment here at Epiphany Now.

However, I'll leave the story with this bit of synchronicity and numerology mystery. The day before I went to meet John I looked at the clock at 111, 222, and 444 pm, I never do that.  I usually catch it once where all the numbers are the same.  The bamboo business is actually located in the same county I moved from after resigning from the Matrix. The same county I worked EMS in for 6 years. In fact, my first EMS job, was actually working for the rescue squad that services the town the grove is in. That town's not far from where our burnt down house resides. The same burnt down house that has that Phoenix rising from it's ashes. We drove to the Bamboo Forest yesterday with Zen and Tribann, to tour it, to learn all things bamboo so that I can convince a shaman. We pulled up to the field just in front of this endearingly magical place on Earth, and there I met John and his beautiful wife. John has a scruffy beard, he's from California, and he has Aspergers (if you don't know, I'm from California and I have Aspergers). The day that would follow would prove to be amongst the most magical days of my life. I'll tell that story next time.

Part of Bamboo Island


Monday, February 10, 2014


Sometimes depression is the appropriate response to things. I am an intellectual being, and that space causes suffering. The things I write about below are true, all of them, and they are sad, and I don't want to be happy about them. If you just want to be happy than don't read this blog. At least not this entry.

Did you know it's possible to hear soul atrophy? And why shouldn't our souls decide to atrophy? What are we, the industrial grade consumers, the bomb chronic radioactive waste generators, the entropic catalytic smoke, the monkey's whom caught cancer of the mind. What do we need of our souls anyways? We sold them a long time ago on account of delicate tastes in the finer things in life. Like name brand clothing made by brown third world slaves, and air conditioned luxury vehicles. God it's depressing. I'm depressing myself over here talkin' about how vile my species is. It's true that exiting the Matrix means no place left to go. At least not where things are considered normal by societies standards. There's nothing left but pure unadulterated truth.

I'm free to see the world from a very unique vantage point. Looking from this high peak I can see futility moving across our psychic landscape. That we should pay by selling our very lives to afford ridiculous stick built nonsense overhead...and drywall. That we spend so much time trying to figure out how to come up with this requirement called money, and this while some men just create it out of free flowing electrons and call it "quantitative easing." What the fuck does that term even mean in reality? That some men get to control the daily realities of a planet full of life? Some men get to be rich while the rest get to be poor. Poor of heart, soul, and spirit, and poor in flesh. Our flesh is even made of less quality than it used to be. We used to be composed of 70% good ole fashioned corn molecules. Now we're composed of high fructose gentically modified and radioactive Monsanto frankencorn molecules. Along with some 200 other man made chemicals that are floating around in our mothers wombs along with our future progeny.

I can envision a world much different from the one we are in now. A world where integrity, honor, compassion, self worth, and love are central to the political decisions that must be made. Why is it that for one group to prosper another group must get shat all over? Why is it that for us humans to be happy we have to kill everything else healthy about our planet? The answer to both of those questions is that neither have to be true. We can have a world where there is surplus amongst healthy natural systems. We must have that world, but all I see is fear painted on the faces of every automaton, and fear ensures that we continue getting this same cancerous, made from virus, reality.

I see cell phones plastered to the side of every motorist, and when the screens aren't stuck to the side of the head they're out front gettin' texted (sounds dirty doesn't it). What do we need with all these god damned electronic screens? They aren't reality, even though we make them so. You can occupy Facebook with art all you want to, it's still taking your energy and making you narcissistic. Why don't you go occupy one of your "friends" house? I bet if you did go to your friends house they wouldn't notice you due to all the electronic idiot panels. They'd likely be to busy liking their friends on Facebook to notice your "in real life" self standing there. Why should they notice you? If they noticed you, they might then be forced to notice something outside the window, something that's outside where the nature is.

There ain't shit natural about an idiot panel imagadget (and for the record, I'm no damn gadget). All of this virtual reality makes real reality diminish. The more we give our energy to those screens, the more our souls atrophy. You can hear the sound from outside of the Matrix. Yet due to the interconnectivity of all things, you can also hear your soul being sucked into the mess, and against your will. We're all drowning alone together, and we're all miserable, but we keep on insisting we must drown to death on comfort and plausible deniability. We insist that what we are doing is okay when it's anything but. It's not alright to continue living the way that we do, our highest good being trash generation for profit, all while serving as slaves to a machine that itself is receiving palliative care by way of digibit printing. It will continue spittin' those ones and zeros out until either we use all of the fossil energy, or the use of that fossil energy finishes choking all life off of this planet, or we do something about it.

So what are we going to do about it? I refuse to continue with business as usual, and I'll refuse any response that requires more of it. You want to own the land? How can you own the land? Even in the delusional version of land ownership you still have codes and taxes, both of which require money. Money for you to go get. You don't get to just print the money either, that's reserved for your masters, you have to sell yourself by the hour for it. There are those whom just have a lot of it. Those of us whom managed to have the brains to figure out how to get it, or were just connected enough from birth to the source of that magic digibit lever up in DC. The way I see it, those of us whom were born short changed, need to start taking from those whom have always had. Exactly like Robyn Hode.

I don't know exactly what that looks like yet. It's just an idea I've just started to think about. What is right and wrong in our world anyways? Is the highest good to honor land ownership? Some bankers said this piece of ground is yours (as long as you comply with codes and pay your taxes) and you can do as you wish with it. Then that same banker said that his corporation was a person with the same damn rights. Now that corporate person decides to shit all over his land with chemicals designed to bring death to healthy cells, with radioactivity, with poisonous food, and with "water" that can be lit on fire. What better symbol do you need for how fucked things are when you can light your tap water on fire. I'd laugh my ass off about that if it weren't for the unfortunate fact that there's nothing funny about it. The message I receive is that it's alright to be a corporate person and shit all over the land with death agents, fuck the water up, heat the planet up, kill everything that's not human (and even kill humans if your an empire) for no reason, and all of that's just fine with the "law" of the land. This is the same law that I'm supposed to respect? The same law that you are supposed to respect?

Well, these are the laws that make our present world. Yeah, but at least we've got ten million food products with high fructose petroleum sugar and we're not hungry...all 7 billion of us...and counting. I keep looking for an answer to this trash dump we've created for ourselves. I'm convinced there's not one spot on this planet without man made trash. Nature doesn't make trash. It makes feces, but then it uses that shit to pretty much perpetuate itself, until we came along and came up with the concept of shit, and now our leaders get to shit all over us and everything else. Maybe its all some fucked up God joke where everything shits on everything else until the end. Humans crave suffering like fish crave water.

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Relese Your Inner Rock Angle

I've been quiet lately here at Epiphany Now. I'm suffering from a bit of reality induced writers block. I'm tired of doom, and the amount of doominess that's just outside waiting for me, and you, and anybody else not anesthetized on fukitol, corn beer, and big idiot clowns smashing into each other for the purposes of moving a pigskin around on fake grass. Even the fuckin' grass is fake in that wallerd out carcass of a long past stinkin' dead horse that is American football. Even the name is arrogant since football (as in the game where you kick a ball around with your feet) is probably one of the oldest sports. A game that's played and recognized globally as football, but here we call it soccer and reserve the name "football" for a sport that has very little to do with kicking a ball. It seems we can't even be honest about our sports, and that we need to be exceptionally different along with how we measure things. The rest of the world uses metrics, what with it's easy to understand increments of 10.

What of the metrics of the future? Agreeing on how we measure that, be it with metrics or standard, they both spell the collapse of our complex civilization. Not a collapse fit for television or the big screen, but one fit for a detention room with a group of misfits nobody wants to be around (that's the rag tag group of genius boomers at the Diner... well actually the Diner is a good cross section of different ages). Each year will be shittier for more people, and eventually you may be amongst their roles. Present and not accounted for as an economic non-person who's been pushed to the margins of a collapsing society without so much as a reach around for the years spent servicing that big tube up your anus, stuck there by the machine, and always sucking memories out to feed the bullshit black hole that the American Hologram projects into every mush for brained i gadget wielding cyborg. Where reality is presented on smaller and smaller screens that we all hunch at, growing crooked, and gnarly in our weaknesses with obsolete flesh. Flesh composed mostly of man made chemicals...flesh maintained on genetic modification and powered by ancient fossil sunlight, as John Michael Greer recently dubbed petroleum.

Why should those internet i gadget cyborgs look away from their ithingies? Why should they wake up and notice that memory hole tube up their ass that's powering the Matrix? We can't all be Neo, and it seems whenever he tries to make an appearance he's whisked away to a kookville for profit, corporatocracy owned private prison (it's interesting to me that Google Blogger doesn't recognize "corporatocracy" as a word). Those state of the art prisons they've been steady building need prisoners to remain a profitable business. You can't make money on building and running prisons with no prisoners now can you? It helps that the laws have been rewritten so that we can be deleted in some forgotten military prison that's tucked away where nobody will ever notice. They might as well just send us to the land of away, with the rest of the trash in our consumer fueled "landfills," or trash dumps as I prefer to call them. At least that's an honest description. The place where our inability to think past the newest flavor Dorito goes to rot, along with any chance at a future that doesn't resemble something you'd likely find somewhere in a smog choked Chinese slum, or an Indian one for that matter. There's nowhere left to go from here except straight into what's left when the fog from a perpetual progress myth dissipates, and there's no longer anything that agrees with the stories you tell yourself...that you verify with that imagidgit and all of those stupid scripted stories that pass through that memory tube up your ass. It's always convincing you that what you need is to work more hours for less pay and no benefits so that you can afford to support those slums that steady chuck out shit for you to buy. Shit that breaks just as soon as you bring it home. Your home being just a place for the thing to pass through on it's way to the trash dump.

How empty can we imagine ourselves to be? Can we get much more empty than a paradigm that mines the wealth of nature for the production of trash? A system that subjugates everybody to it's incessant worship of profit as the only sacred. The game is rigged. You gotta have money to play. Now you gotta comply to the new wealthcare mandates or be fined, leading to imprisoned...eventually. Just being alive requires that you pay, and only money will be accepted as payment. Well, that's not true, there is also the option of an all expense paid incarceration in one of those for profit prison businesses where you can make a few cents a day to pay for the cigarettes that will hopefully kill you before your prison gay cell mate decides to push your shit in. It doesn't sound that bad does it. It sounds like you could almost learn to enjoy having your shit pushed in doesn't it?

The trouble is not in imagining a world where money is not required.  It's actually quite easy to imagine. It's just that you'd be imagining a lie. Money's not going to go away, and nor are the men whom control it's completely hallucinated nature. In fact, those men control trigger happy goons in police suits. And those police suits revel in their high tech deadly weaponry, and in the sound that their boots make when they stomp on your freedom to be a slave in this Orwellian New World Bravely that's become the reality surrounding the imagidgits we're all plugged into. Well, we're not all plugged into them, at least not unconsciously. There are those of us whom are trying to come up with solutions to all of this totalitarian tyranny over nature and the mass human mind. We're out here hiding in plain site where we are free to think about the world outside of the Matrix. Hiding in glitches hoping for a miracle and trying not to fall prey to near term human extinction nihilism (or one of those shit pushin' in prisons).

The way forward is to no longer care about the Matrix and the goons whom worship at it's suffering feet. We need to collectively turn our backs on the system. I'm trying my hardest to do that, but there aren't many options and it requires a bit of luck to pull off. We don't have the money to build a future before the Matrix grinds to a halt (one stair step at a time all the way to collapse). The answer is as simple as access to land so that we, the unplugged and empowered forward thinkers, can begin setting up the natural systems that will sustain us. It's easy to do! Real easy on the ground, and especially while we still have tractors and chainsaws. Restoration Agriculture, permaculture, ecological design, and perennial agriculture are all ideas that seek to implement the answers to all of the problems we face as a species.

Money stands in our way, true, but more importantly we stand in our way. We need to get out of our way, and that's exactly what us Heliopaths are trying to do at the SUN Foundation. We are trying to believe that as bad as the endless procession of problems we face on this planet are, that they are not insurmountable. There has to be a way through the endless storm that industrial civilization is proving to be. We've turned ourselves into slaves and are doing our level best to destroy life supporting biomes on this planet. As a Heliopathic Rasta Man Druid it's my job to figure this shit out (and it's okay to laugh at my dumb ass self applied moniker). As a father and husband it's my responsibility. Hell, as a sentient being with access to abstract thinking, it's my responsibility to figure this out. This is a call for help. If you are reading this, and you have not been to the SUNFoundation website, please do drop by for a visit. Have a look around and ask questions. Join the dialogue about how we're going to fix this mess and contribute to the solutions we're so desperately in need of.

I believe that the solutions to the demise of this industrial civilization will have to be small, grass roots, decentralized, and connected to the natural world, just like SUN Foundation is. The solutions will not happen if you don't try to pull them out, if we don't try. You, I, the other guy...us all. The goons are coming for us all sooner or later. Their masters already have all of your rights locked safely away at the bottom of the Land of Away with all of our mindless consumption, and that's all right next to the shit storm future we've left for our children. I refuse to be a part of a wealth pump that grinds up whole mountains, and oceans, and peoples just to spooge it all back out onto itself and everybody else in an endless act of hedonistic narcissistic greed. We fuel this machine with our apathy. We give our power away for the right to consume imagidgits and America's Got Talent. Let us take the land back, and so take our power back. Help us figure out how to do that. Become a Heliopath and help the SUN Foundation come up with the solutions to our problems. We're interested in solutions at SUN. Solutions that will weather the building storm. Got any ideas you want to share? 

The first person to guess what a "rock angle" is will get a bottle of SUN sauce...my fermented hot pepper sauce mailed to wherever they want it free of charge (and there are two possible answers I'll accept).  Here's a hint...it's a word that my son Ayden Zen McCarty thought up.  Guess I should prepare to give away two bottles.  

Here are some pictures of one of the ongoing SUN Foundation projects.  It's a monumental hugelspiral.  The hugelspiral will be completed once we wheelbarrow 12 yards of topsoil on top of the 2 yards of mushroom compost, on top of about 6 yards of leaves, on top of white pine, poplar, oak, and maple sourced from the land.  


Friday, December 6, 2013

Pit Composting

Compost is about like anything else as an isolated subject.  It can be as simple as a stinky anaerobic mess in a pile, or as complicated and expensive as a mechanical device with aeration holes that spins on a timer.  Personally I've tended towards the former during my career as an aspiring green thumbist.  When I first started gardening in 2007, composting was the first piece of the gardening puzzle I gazed upon with Aspergian hyperfocus.  I read books written about composting and nothing else.  I studied composting...a process that occurs naturally, regardless of the books or the study on my part.  I made large piles of organic nitrogenous materials mixed with the more ubiquitous carbonaceous biomass, at the perfect ratio of 1/30...or 1/20...depending on your source, and I turned those piles with a pitchfork on a regular frequency.  I sprayed the piles with water to keep them at that perfect and mythical "wet as a wrung out sponge" dampness.  I even stuck pvc pipes with holes drilled in them down into the piles to increase oxygenation.  All of this effort was to achieve the perfect black gold to amend my intense garden beds with, and to do so as quickly as possible because that was the challenge.  For a while, I was composting kitchen scraps (and anything else of organic origin) with a sense of pride and achievement.  After I tackled the art of making perfect compost, my gaze was focused elsewhere in the gardening world, and I began my decent back towards anaerobic piles covered up with enough biomass to stunt the stinch. 

After reading Gaia's Garden, I was convinced that the compost pile was a waste of effort for myself.  You have to pile the kitchen scraps up somewhere, at a bare minimum, to create compost.  Then you have to apply that compost somewhere, at least for it to be of some use to you.  Last season I dumped a five gallon bucket full of kitchen scraps into a simple compost bin, and covered it up with straw or mulch or weeds, and repeated all season long.  I probably dumped 20 buckets onto a heap that stayed at about 3 feet in diameter and about 3 feet tall...all year.  The compost was literally being eaten by the soil life, and I imagine it became so rich in that place that nutrients began leaching into the sub soil, into the water table, and away.  While this situation is certainly better than sending all of that biomass to the landfill, it wasn't much of a yield for me.  I ended up with one wheel barrow load of compost that I applied to one bed.  All of that effort just for one garden beds worth of amendments.  Granted, any chance to participate in any kind of garden alchemy, I'm game, but this seemed too...inefficient for my liking.  I've since converted from composting in piles above ground, to pit composting. 

Pit composting is an idea I can get behind.  It's simple, effective, and it minimizes work on my part which frees me up for other things (like telling my son no, and stop that, and put your wiener up).  It certainly isn't a method for everyone.  Dig the hole deep enough, and cover it up, and even dogs will leave the mess alone.  You can literally compost anything you want (pending it's actually compostable in the first place).  You won't have to concern yourself with nitrogen/carbon ratios, moisture, or oxygen content.  No turning of a pile, no checking of temperatures with compost thermometers, no worrying about a pile bursting into flames, no worrying about unwanted volunteers sprouting up, no concern for attracting varmints, and no obnoxious smells to piss the neighbors off. 

Dig a hole

Dump 5 gallon bucket full of kitchen scraps in hole

here you can see that I dug the hole on the down hill side of a berm
Allow local feral fauna to inspect and taste kitchen scrap slop, to determine it's of no interest

Fill hole back in

Enjoy couch meditation in front of the idiot panel with your children, secure in the knowledge that you are saving kitchen scrap from the landfill, and increasing the fertility of your land by enlisting thousands of different life forms beneath ground to do your work for you.  If you listen closely, you can hear the earth worms thank you.

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Earth Moving

I've got a lot of opinions about the world.  Opinions about what is real and what is propaganda in service of the Matrix.  Opinions about spiritual matters and meaning, about the best way to raise children, how a hole is best dug and what a good beer should taste like.  Opinions are like assholes in this world full of them.  So, due to my particularly cranky, old jaded man like attitude towards the state of affairs in the world, I've decided to just start being the change as an MO.  So expect more pictures and videos in the future...and probably less opinion about the world.  Less social criticism...more doing as William Hunter Duncan has recently propounded. 

So I dug that swale out and then it rained.

I know I sound like an idiot, but I can assure you that I am no idiot.  When I moved to this property in February of 2012, all that you see in the above two videos, at least in the fenced in section, was nothing more than bermuda grass, dandelions, and wild garlic that was all cut on the lowest setting with a riding lawn mower.  I have grown lots of food, and I have imported loooooots of free biomass.  The system is maturing all around.  I'm growing soil and capturing rain water and sun energy.  It's beautiful.

I'd say, outside of being here everyday for my family, the best part about dropping out of the Matrix is the ability to live my life how it is supposed to be lived.  My wife told me the other day that she had read a blog written by a hospice nurse about the most common regrets that patients on their death beds have.  The most common was regret for not having the courage to live their lives on their own terms, and not due to the worlds social and programmed expectations.  That is what I'm doing.  I'm living my life based on my moral north, my bliss, doing what I'm meant to do.  My wife and I are fulfilling our purposes together, with children, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever participated in. 

I ask you, dear reader, what is an hour of your life worth in dollar figures?  Not just one hour, but an endless precession of hours, until they end that is, upon your death.  What is that hour, just before you die, worth?  Personally I am incapable of putting a dollar amount on even my last second, much less hour.  This is where you must put meaning into perspective.  I've met the reaper in person, up close and personal.  I know his inevitability, and the hubris created between his inevitability and our pride and selfishness.  The irony is that the most selfless thing you could possibly do is to undergo your own self actualization.  Because it's true that you cannot possibly expect to be loved if you can't even love yourself.

I believe the job that we all must do, for the world, for our children, and for ourselves, is to fulfill our purposes.  Not to blindly follow the programming that tells us that a job is the highest good.  Make your own damn job, and that job is to do what you are called to do, and not what you are paid to do.  The money will come, as if by magic, and you might find that the Stones were right, you'll get what you need.  Do not be afraid to live your life for your highest purpose.  After all, there is a high probability...if you live your life on the terms of others, that you will regret it on your death bed. 

Saturday, November 23, 2013

The Birth of Sun Harvesters

The above picture was taken from inside of a swale I just dug out at the Fox Den.  The fox in the picture is my companion fox, and she goes by Bo Beppa.  I was taking the picture when Bo Beppa jumped into the frame unexpectedly, making the image serendipitous. 

I dug this swale, measuring at about 2 feet deep by 2 feet wide, with an accompanying 2 1/2 foot berm, and about 50 feet or so long on contour, in two days by myself. 

I busted through South Carolina clay fit for a pottery wheel, and South Carolina rock that had bands that crumbled like salt.

I dug this swale to capture water and build soil.  During the spring, when we get torrential rain, I hope this swale stays full more often than not, and I hope that an underground lens of water forms.  If that happens, then another hole which I've dug at the lowest point on the property, about 25 yards away from the swale, may fill with water from that lens.  However, that biggest hole, at the bottom of the property, will fill with water because all of the water striking my property has been directed to that spot. 

I used an A Frame Level, which I constructed from scavenged and excavated bits.  I used an old broom stick, a piece of wood that was scrap from a previous project, a piece of trim from a 1969 Airstream International Sovereign land yacht, some cordage, and a rock I dug out of the ground in Asheville NC on a previous paid permaculture dig.  It was a crude instrument that I made simply to last for this one job. 

But an A Frame Level must be used because placing swales on contour is a counter intuitive thing.  You can't see that level of slope and land movement. 

one of the various rocks I dug up in Asheville NC

Today I jumped the chain link fence that separates my property from a trailer park.  And I racked up a shit load of leaves that fell from a massive oak tree and placed them on my side of the fence.  A few roads down I could smell the smoke from yahoos burning the leaves that fell on their property.  I suppose they lack the knowledge, or concern, or brain cells to know that burning leaves is a border line retarded thing to do. Concentrate them on the earth and let the earth worms eat them and shit them out.  Earth Worm poo is as fertile as soil fertility gets.  Building soil is not that complicated.  Concentrate organic matter, or biomass, and if you do nothing else it will eventually become fertile ground for life to grow. 

I placed many of those leaves on the back side of the berm I had just created.  I plan to place a couple inches of mulch on top of those leaves, once I drive back to the county dump to get another truck and trailer load of free mulch.  I have to fork that mulch myself, and I have to pic the trash out of it, but it's free and it's a very diverse mixture of woody plant material.  Lots of people worry about things like herbacides and pesticides accompanying the free mulch.  My argument is that the mostly perennial and ornamental woody plant material I see being trucked into the dump, to be ground into mulch, is not the type of plant usually sprayed by homeowners.  It's just pruned and driven to the dump, where the trash in the back of the pickup truck and trailer gets ground along with it. 

I'm building fertility on this acre of land that I've found myself a husband of.  I'm using the principles of permaculture to guide me.  I'll be starting a business one of these days, but I won't be calling it permaculture because that word is in the process of cooptation.  I won't be co opted, nor will any organization I'm involved with.  I'm doing ecological design.  I'm using my brain along with intuition and spiritual guidance to create a landscape that allows regeneration, fertility, and life all to flourish.

Zen busted open a dried out gourd on the concrete after an impromptu game of "kick the gourd."  It ended up in the future pond, and some type of green growth emerged on the gourd.  You can see four gourd seeds still attached.  It is sitting on top of mulch from the county dump. 
 This is what I spend my time doing these days.  I dig holes, direct water, collect and concentrate biomass, and I sift through the literal waste stream of an empire drunk and glutted on the end of the age of petroleum abundance.  I have dropped out of the Matrix and no longer pay in any attention.  Maybe my actions are futile due to radioactively contaminated Fukushima rain.  Maybe Obama's hench men will show up and cart my ass back off to the solitary cell they've created for my kind.  Mostly resistant to the bullshit destruction for pigmen profit, I carry on with my blissful work of concentrating the raw ingredients of renewal and regeneration.  I'm an earth moving alchemist concerned with the quality and ecology of living soil. 

The view from the top of my truck, before the swale.
The only meaningful action for anyone to take now, to give our children a chance to eat, is to begin concerning yourself with sustainable food production.  As in, we need to begin seeing ourselves as sun harvesters.  We need to design our society with this as our central purpose.  I see a symbiotic dance between the plants and animals on this Earth.  We can orchestrate this dance like conductors, and that should be our place.  To concentrate natural processes in an attempt to create the most life giving fertility possible is the loftiest of goals for our species just now. 

Zen swimming in the first pond I dug out after a good rain

So I've sort of rambled and ranted towards the summary of this particular photoblog.  I've got many more pics up at the SUN Foundation site www.sun4living.com  You can see them here

Hopefully someone with great means will show up and donate a large tract of land for the first Foxstead to materialize.  We are now a 501c3 foundation with a bank account.  Go and visit the SUN site to learn how you can help create a realistic alternative to the end of petroleum abundance.  A realistic strategy for dealing with the transition from a first world empire, to a third world slum.  Or just go back to your ithingy and mindless idiot panel entertainment in service of BAU pay checks and pointless poisonous existence. 

There is too much for us to be doing to be wasting our time in perpetuity for pay checks.  We can sustain our own universal needs if we just believe.  Even with radioactive rain falling from our corrosive chemical sky, we can seek shelter beneath a forest canopy under which we have built culture and food.  Even when it all burns down we can survive, and we can thrive under a new paradigm that honors our sacred connection with the natural world. 

This is what's left of the home I currently have a $744 per month mortgage on.  Hopefully Allstate does what they are supposed to do.  If they don't, my wife and I will default on this loan and my credit will resemble this burnt out shell.  Fortunately we have exited the Matrix and so none of this matters to us.  Yet, I brought my first baby boy home to this house.  I still can't believe it's reality.