Chunky Global Warming

I picked-up the two small (6′-diameter) patio umbrellas up off the deck where I had laid them down because of the freezing wind and rain. Actually one had laid itself down, due to the wind, but was not broken. This morning at 6:03AM it was 21-degrees (and still dark as hell), so I bided my time and enjoyed coffee and waited until around 8:00AM when the sun had risen-up higher and the temps hit 41.
Pushing on the umbrella rib-arms, the frozen canvas barely moved. The big umbrella was tied-up tight and secure, but it too had lifted itself onto its side earlier – despite the huge weight, and fortunately nothing (obvious) was broken. The crank-handle worked better as leverage against the freezy-fabric.
Guests had departed and Sunday was just cold and wet, so a bright and sunny Monday was welcome. Looking out over the pasture-prairie I wondered what I was gonna do with this plot of land. Maybe nothing. But it would be cool to have a tractor. But then I need a bigger shed to house it – and that’s in the planning stages, or at least “thinking-about-planning.”
But I want an old tractor, not a new one. Cool would be a International-Harvester, but then I would have to buy an International-Harvester Corp. M1 Garand. Those are way-cool and everybody needs an M1, or two or three…
There are worse problems to contemplate…like a strife-ridden and nearly suicidal PC-driven “Society” twitching in convulsive chaos with itself. WTF happened to Western Civilization? And so with that, then a “battle belt” with enough modern-ammo capacity, rounds and magazines, to handle whatever the armor-rig didn’t, stuff to withstand the storm and fog of Political Correctness writ large. Tourniquets.
A friend likes Massey-Ferguson tractors for various reasons. I don’t know tractors from cars. I know trucks, or at least prefer them to cars. And bikes – somewhat, I mean that it’s been ages since I could spin-off weight, speed, and torque details about mechanical things.
But a red tractor would be cool.
UPDATE: 7:05AM Tuesday, 22-degrees.
UPDATE-UPDATE: 5:59PM Tuesday, 36-degrees.

September 11th was a Tuesday

There’s a huge body of people who live in growing denial of events, and stand upon burnt and blood-sodden ground that is slowly sinking into the sands of Time.

They vocalize a litany of fear, uncertainty, and doubt that streams from their subconscious – a manifest projection of all their archetypal confusion and world-view.

As they repeat the evidence of their disconnection over and over again it becomes their chant, a magical charm to ward off Evil, and they regress behind imaginary walls and paralytic self-sheltering. They are the Villagers of September 10th past.

They know the Monster’s name and they are afraid to invoke it. Unwilling to speak it, their fear drives them to appease it.

In the labyrinth of their confusion they believe they can make diplomacy with the Minotaur. Hoping to slake its thirst for blood they are prepared to send ten, twenty, or forty virgins to the lip of the Volcano.  Stockholm-syndrome has its way with them. They fear that which might identify them: Point away, point away! They are ready to send a whole Civilization into the inferno to save themselves – but they are already in the fire.
Holding protest signs like strings of Garlic, too small and weak to fight against Terror, the Villagers clamor instead to seek shelter beneath the ruthless walls of The Hatred itself – that is no shelter.

A Hatred that casually and lustily destroyed the lives of over two thousand small innocents, working people with families who were simply going about their business. A Hatred that danced upon its millipede feat in the befouled streets of its diseased home and sang from it’s hundred Hydra-heads with shrill voices of gloating, as thousands perished in flames, in falling, and in smokey rubble.

The Villagers of September 10th plead, “Please do not harm us – we are like you.”  But they are only small, Little Hatreds – nothing like the big blood-lust.

The insatiable Hatred will take their Life and laugh, and laugh again as they give up the lives of others, while the Hatred remains at the banquet of blood, hungry for more.