The Almost Raw Key Lime Cookie

You take a cup of raw cashews and put them in your food processor. My food processor sucks so bad I had to break it up into thirds. Then Medjool dates? Well, they were un-pitted, and had been in the refrigerator. The food processor could not chop these (after I had pitted them by hand). Fuck it. I let them come to room temperature. Then I just gave up and mushed them in by hand with the cashew flour. I’ve given up making bars at this point, way too messy. Next coconut, the shredded kind which is sweetened because you bought the Safeway store brand, but it’s okay because it’s sweetened with sugar and cane and coconut have yet to go GMO, so you cross fingers and hope it is okay. Okay. Now zest a lime. It’s not organic, but again, don’t have a lime tree. Add lime zest, juice the lime. Add the juice, now mush it all together. All together. Makes three big ass cookies. Good for the raw foodie needing more than 2,000 calories a day on cloudy winter days. Right, it’s spring, but since we had spring in winter, now we have winter in spring.

Someone else bid cash on the house. So another house is being looked at tomorrow. It has an electric stove. I hope it has gas hook-ups. Electric stoves are not for cooking, but lately I’ve only been toasting tortillas and frying eggs.

Frozen dates are kind of yummy. I forgot to say, you’re supposed to freeze the cookies.I am going to break down from this fruits, greens, eggs, nut thing soon. I don’t know what I want to eat, but I feel so hungry, and yet, most processed or cooked food makes me feel sick, so I don’t know if I should just be eating more. It seems like I should be okay calorie-wise on days I’m not training or working out, and it isn’t that cold but, hungry.

I had a dream where a bald eagle swooped down and almost grabbed me, but then accipiters have been in the forefront lately. So the U. S. is moving in for the kill, or at least I’m paranoid it is, but I narrowly avoid the talons in my shoulder because I stare the bird down. “Oh no, you don’t even…” He lands less than three feet from me. I’m scowling at the bird and then wake up.

Or have I refused the spiritual transcendence of the material world? This eagle was not like the condor in a similar dream I had where the condor came and swooped down upon me an suddenly I had merged with the bird and had magnificent wings. This bald eagle was not majestic, but shiest-y. It was like the turkey vulture I had seen on my walk that evening. I had looked it dead in the eye. “I am alive. I am alive, and bigger than you. You cannot take me. I am not the one you are looking for.” No, this bald eagle was a prop of the dark ones. It’s all gotten so trite that I’ve become lackadaisical in dream time. Like, “Okay. Let’s see what you’re going to pull tonight. I know this is not real, and if you piss me off enough, or creep me out, I’m just going to wake up.” But a better question, why are the dark ones in my dream? Why don’t I want to travel other places? The primary answer to the 2nd question is that there is no one there. The place from which I came truly does not exist any longer, so visiting home is not really an option anymore. I’m also no longer trying to escape from anything in particular, nor am I temporarily filling in the roll of anyone else. I’m just this flat sort of observer. I watch the dark ones mutilate loved ones and send creatures to attack me and I sigh lamely or wake up.

Since really lucid dreaming is the norm for me, you’d think I’d want to experience awesome things, see awesome places, or visit people. But instead I just am singing, as though I had a voice like Jasmine Sullivan, Ray Charles, Keshia Cole, or Sam Cooke.

oh no! you cannot harm me! you cannot, one who has a song like mine.

There are the sleepers.

There are the struggle-rs, bright, blazing, passionate stars.

There are those who have arrived, calm, reserved, quiet. They appear apathetic to the untrained, to the sleepers, but they are somehow wise in their hands-off approach.

Okay. I’m here, now what? Somehow it’s not as fun as the struggle, but there is no going back to sleep to struggle again.


House 2.0

Mr. X put a bid in on a house today. It’s like some freaky Alchemist shit. I’m all like, “But where will an extra $400/month come from? I already feel strapped. I had to wait 3 years to get new jeans and replace my bike rack. What about a washer and dryer and dishwasher and refrigerator?”

I pretty much gave up on the house idea after Milwaukee where they told us they needed verifiable income of $60K for three plus years for a $100K mortgage. Me with verifiable income? Pffffft.

So universe, really truly, I need a job with a lot more take home pay and I need Congress to pass some kind of student loan debt forgiveness bill, true forgiveness. Something more than, “we’ll only take 10% for 10 years, and then we’ll forgive up to $42K” or “we’ll only take 15% of discretionary income for 20 years.” What’s going to happen to me when that Obama Care comes along? I don’t have $250 a month to pay for health insurance, especially not with student loans. I can’t get married with student loans to be on Mr. X’s insurance. Are the fines for not buying insurance going to be less than buying insurance? Are things ever going to be okay again?


If someone is buying a house, and someone’s mother’s house is less than 900 sq. ft. but has an almost $800 a month mortgage, then someone else is probably going to be moving to Austin, because there’s nowhere to rent here for $350 a month, at least not with intelligent, clean adults. There’s also no jobs to pay enough for someone having $400/month go out in credit card payments to afford a $600/month place plus utilities which come to another at least $150, and that would be without Internet.

I want to stay here. I want kitties and a yard and a washer and dryer, but I truly feel like a burden because my total household contribution amounts to $250/month toward rent, produce from the CSA, a few groceries, and shit like shower curtains, and paper towels. I am not the one paying the electric or Internet or buying foie gras.

Also, you cannot buy a house in Redding for a $600 month mortgage payment. That might get you $90K if you’re lucky. There’s nothing more than trailers for that price.

Oh well, at least I’ve stayed off the streets for over a year.

Separation Anxiety

We don’t have cable or a converter box, so since 2009, the only television I have watched has been via the Internet, or while visiting someone’s house. Digger’s premiered already. This show was sponsored by National Geographic, but excavated on land owned by the state of Montana for which the show’s producers did not have a permit. The Billing’s Gazette posted an article yesterday.

My friend had the following to say:

Consider calling the Powell County Attorney, Lewis K. Smith (406) 846-9790), and encourage him to do the right thing and prosecute cultural resource violations to the fullest extent of the law. Remember, “Diggers” got multiple warnings (remember all those petitions we signed?). The SHPO is on record as indicating no permit application was received, and they flagrantly committed the act on national TV. I wonder if the Dept. of Corrections considered the enormity of the potential class-action lawsuit that develops when prisoners’ identities are released.
Lastly, call the BLM PR rep Mark Jacobson (406-233-2831) and ask him to make sure his PR releases take a much stronger tone than his quoted remarks in the Billings Gazette.

I recommended also writing an editorial to the Billing’s Gazette.

Am I capable of doing any of these things? Sure. Absolutely.

Will I do any of these things? Yeah, not so much. Right now I can’t really tell if it’s because I am so pissed off, or if it’s just because in my heart or hearts, I don’t really care. Archaeology can go the way of shopping malls I guess. It no longer works in this world. It’s really sad, and we may lose untold amounts of fascinating information about humanity’s past, but guess what? There’s only a handful of people in the grand scheme of things that give a crap. Unlike the GMO salmon, I don’t feel like it’s a crime against humanity, a crime against nature, and a crime against all creation if archaeology disappears. To make phone calls or write letters feels like how I feel like when I look for work (the unending task of the last 9 years). Frankly, I am tired of it. I feel like I am being terrorized. I feel like I have to beg for dignity and sovereignty, for justice and respect. I should not have to beg for justification of my life path, yet it is something I feel that I am forced constantly to do.

Then there is my African-American friend who got pulled over in Phoenix because he was black and my Jewish friend in Milwaukee who got pulled over leaving Sabbath services Saturday because she looked like she was latina. Liz and Taylor are left with a $2,000 utility bill because Amanda left them high and dry by not paying one penny for utilities while she lived there. Liz is lucky if she brings in more than $25K for a family of 5, and Taylor is not bringing in enough to make any difference. How about the young guy that was chased down and shot in Florida? It’s all fucking bullshit. No, I am too mad to be rational, and when almost everyone I know is on the verge of being malnourished, evicted, and unjustly thrown in prison do I really care if people are treasure hunting arch sites? I mean seriously?

Yeah, blessed Ostara. Welcome to Armageddon 2.0.

Love Forever, Love is Free

I’m not sure where to start, because I failed to write this down immediately. Taylor was bothering Mr. X. It was as though my remaining love for him had become disingenuous because it had initially been won through emotional manipulation, but Taylor had Teagan. It seemed like we were at the bottom of the stairs between the first and second floor at the Art House, but I’m not sure. I said something like, “No, you can’t kiss me that way anymore, and besides I can tell you’re irritating Mr. X. You should probably go home. I’ll see you when the visit with Teagan is over.”

So then Mr. X and I left what I think was the Art House with Teagan to meet my sister and Michelle at a place like the IHOP in Racine. Adam met us there later. It began to get very dark out. When we went into the parking lot to leave there were four black horses, bigger than draft horses, like the four horse of the Apocalypse, but parked in parking stalls. There was a little demon. It looked sort of like a large fetus or a living amphibian gargoyle, think an albino Golum with vampire dentition, utterly ghastly. It’s skin was translucent and you could see red blood moving through it’s veins. I felt like the demon was after Teagan and the whole scene was a sign of impending doom. It was dark like a tornado, getting on toward sunset, but all was calm.

Michelle departed our party. Adam, my sister, Mr. X, Teagan and I went to an unknown house in some place that felt like California. It felt the the big house in the green place, with the open atrium and the picture windows. Mr. X thought it was okay that Adam came along because he could tell that the love between us was innocent and genuine. He respected Adam and they were becoming friends.

My sister, Adam and I were with Teagan in a room like the nursery at Trinity. Teagan began trying to put his hand down my pants. I immediately reprimanded him. “I’m your mother. You can’t touch me that way! What has Michelle been teaching you?” Adam reprimands him as well. I’m thinking, “This visit was a horrible idea. I should have just left you with your stupid biological mother.” My sister takes over watching Teagan then and Adam and I leave.

Then we are in a bathroom, like the bathroom at the quad box and Adam or Mr. X has a laptop and is watching a You Tube video on the clinical, epidermal manifestation of herpes. I pull down my pants and sort of spread my labia and ask, “Can you tell that I have herpes?” They’re both like, “um, no.” I’m like, “but look at these red dots.” They’re both like, “That could be from shaving,” and Mr. X adds, “Or prickly heat rash.” The video is continuing on how to identity a herpes sore and ways to prevent spreading herpes: check your partner for sores before intercourse, use condoms, always inform your partner of any STDs you have…blah blah blah. I say, “Well it would have been nice if someone had bothered to inform me.” Adam mumbles, “Me too.” Say what? So then it becomes instantly understood that that is why nothing further happened back in 2004/2005. I say, “I just thought you hated me. That, or you were gay.” Adam says, “Nope. Nope. It was the herps…”

So then we go have sex, which Mr. X approves of, because he is getting to be friends with Adam, and has no interest in sex, but knows that I’ve been on the edge for several months. But that act isn’t really part of the dream, it’s panned out and the important part is afterward. Adam is sitting in a wingback chair and I am sitting in his lap.

Adam: So we really have a lot of work to do, don’t we? I’ve kind of let this go for too long.

Me: That’s okay. If I were you, I wouldn’t even be here now. I’m just all like, “Oh knight in shining armor and crap.”

Adam: Well, yeah, you were, but we should probably start planning where we are going next, because we won’t be here that much longer.

So I mention to Adam about the figure skating, and the wildland fire fighting, and that I have not yet spent as much time as I like with Mr. X, and that of course I want him to come, and that I want him to still be an important part of my life, how I really want to break down the idea of nuclear family like Burroughs said in the forth lesson and experiment with the tribe level of interaction, even though at the same time I wanted to still be sure to travel with my nuclear soul family.

We both look at each other and think, “Emily!” and wonder why she is not there.

Adam: I have no idea if she will even want to travel with me as you do. Maybe she has had all she likes of her original dream.

I just shrug my shoulders.

Then we go to the kitchen, which is exactly like the quad box kitchen, but presumably is in the the big house in the green place. Adam helps Mr. X prepare a chicken and stuff it with onions. I think how cute it is that they are cooking together. We can hear my sister and Teagan elsewhere in the house.

Then I am upstairs in a different house, a Victorian house. It is dark. Outside it is windy. There is a grandfather clock at the top of the stairs, but I do not hear it ticking. No one has wound it in years. There are pictures hung of strangers on the wall of the staircase. There is a wooden baluster along the open side. I am sacred and start running down the stairs calling out,”Matthew! Matthew!” I get to the bottom of the stairs and there is Adam.

Adam: What? What’s wrong?

Me: But you… but you’re not…

Adam grabs me and kisses me and in that moment I know that he is Matt. The living room has an old style radio and a green plush chair with cream colored crocheted lace doilies. Adam has a record case with 45s. He asks me if I’d like to check out his rockabilly collection. All the labels on the 45s are yellow or red.

Me: Rockabilly? When did you start listening to rockabilly?

Adam: Well, you know, it’s a natural extension from punk and Johnny Cash to rockbilly.

Me: Well, wow. Really? I have some rockabilly 45s too, and some LaVern Baker.

I am thinking this certainly doesn’t fit in with the Matthew/Kansas City timeline, nor my understanding of our present timeline. IT certainly has distracted me from whatever it was that I was scared of. The explanation of why rockabilly doesn’t seem to fit. I wonder if Mr. X will like us listening to rockabilly records. Somehow I don’t feel electroclash follows to rockabilly either.

We are back in the big house in the green place and my 1964 Zenith stereo cabinet is there. We can smell the chicken cooking. Fades out, or I can’t remember in between.

Somehow we are on a train. We are traveling west through the Great Plains, the great American desert. It looks like Wyoming. The landscape is brown and the sky is a washed out blue. Michelle is in a car in front of us, but my sister, Mr. X, Adam, Teagan, and I are back in a box car with the door open. Teagan is wearing shorts, or at least his legs are bare. He is standing in front of the door. He starts saying, “I want to get off the train,” but before I can rush forward to grab him and pull him back, he jumps as we are moving at a very fast pace through a railyard. The other tracks are slightly downhill from where our train is. Teagan jumps and immediately breaks his neck and splits his skull open on one of the adjoining rails. I can see blood. “Oh shit!” I think. “Michelle is going to kill us.”

Then I wake up.

So goes yet another dream in which people I love get maimed or dismembered. This one didn’t leave me with quite the nasty feeling that many of these dreams do, but it wasn’t typical of them. It was more than The Dark, TM trying to terrorize me. This is making plans to move out of Armageddon with interference from The Dark TM. There were many other disturbing and bizarre elements, but it wasn’t typical of those types of dreams.

Many Things

Woke up this morning, very horny, very hungry, blood pressure in the basement. It’s not the greatest feeling. It was kind of torturous actually. I had to wait for a long time to be able to get out of bed because I don’t enjoy the blacking out thing. I was fighting. I skipped yoga this morning. I’m trying to not feel bad about it. It’s very cold and I think I have the heat down below 65. My calves are also sore from training on Monday. It’s pouring rain, so probably no training this evening.

Work is utterly dead. All last week I went in to work anywhere from 15 minutes to 2 hours. It’s not worth my time for that honestly. It’s fun to have one day where there’s only an hour or two, but all week long two weeks in a row? Eegads! I have what I feel like is a million applications out across the north state, but I am not expecting interviews. I am debating working further south and out into the western Great Basin. I suppose I will need to get quite a bit more desperate, but I would absolutely love to be self reliant. I am tired in my bones and soul of looking for work and feeling like I have to justify my existence to the people of the Earth, when I’d really rather ask them to lick my balls thank you very much. I will probably never get over this feeling of insecurity. I’ll always be down on my fellow man for busting my balls my whole life. There’s no kindness in the heart of the one you left dying on the road to Jericho. There is obviously something wrong with me since I cannot support myself through earning wages. People don’t want to pay me to work for them. Other people love for me to work for them for free. I’m getting to the point where I see all employment, especially the kind where you don’t manipulate people into doing things they don’t want in their heart of hearts to do, as welfare. I keep thinking of the Hollies song, “He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.” If you’re an enlightened being wouldn’t you sort of have to be socialist? Can you argue me around that? It’s Truth. If you are enlightened, then you have to be a socialist, pretty much.

I’m so excited that I got a few hundred articles from a friend and was able to load them onto a 2 gig micro SD in the Nook Color. I will probably spend the better part of the day reading.

Mr. X is gone down south this week. Guess what is the most exciting part of that? I can wear Old Spice antiperspirant. Yay!

There is an international grocery store near where he is staying and he got me the very last block of foie gras, even though it was more than twice as much as I told him should be his cut off. This is probably the most he has ever spoiled me before. I heard rumors that they were making foie gras illegal because of the cruel way they force feed the geese. I cannot confirm these rumors. Should I feel bad about them force feeding geese when I think about how chickens, cows, or pigs are treated and raised to produce the meat that most Americans eat? It’s no worse, although it’s no good.

I miss Quinn.

I am still trying to figure out how to get kitties, my own washer and dryer, a yard for a garden, compost, and clothesline while maintaining the gas range and the dishwasher. This must be in Nor’ Cal. Sometimes, looking back, I’m amazed what I’ve been able to do and what the universe has blessed me with, but other times, I am so impatient.

I also need to replace my bike rack.

I want to add a few things to my backpacking gear, and really if work is going to be like this, I might take up K’s offer to do the John Muir trail this summer.

There other awesome thing is that there is a complete abundance of food at the moment. There are all kinds of yummy things I can make, so I can happily not leave the house at all until Friday morning.

Spring Fever

You know, I am really looking forward to menopause.

Water Panther

Today I came to the realization that water panther effigy mounds could be representations of tadpoles and the power of metamorphosis. I’ve wondered what the water panther effigy mounds were supposed to be since I was 3 years old. This afternoon I was reading National Geographic and there was a glossy close-up of polliwogs. +ba bum chink+ Water panthers are the butterflies of southern Wisconsin.

However, then there are these petrogylphs with horned “water panthers” which really don’t feel like anthropomorphous polliwogs. To me, this looks like a really pissed off big cat, not a dinosaur as the linked page suggests. This petroglyph is found near Lake Superior, big water, not like the small lakes and wetlands more typical of the effigy mound area, but then how different was the environment 1000 years ago? I can’t even gander a guess without further investigation.

Then there are the earth diver stories. I always imagined an earth diver to be a turtle, even though in many stories the earth diver is a beaver or muskrat.  Yet the water panthers don’t look anything like turtles, beavers, or muskrats.

Then, as I’m writing this, I am thinking of frogs beginning as eggs (feminine) and hatching to look like giant sperms (masculine), needing to stay underwater, but then becoming a unified adult frog able to surface.

The frogs are singing and surely frog has a lesson for me this winter/spring. I was cleaning all morning before work because we are expecting company Thursday. It might not quite be spring yet, but plum blossoms and “ribbitt ribbitt” say otherwise.

A total eclipse at Mt. Shasta? May 20th? Wow.