Sort of running a day ahead of myself: this was my Saturday.
I don’t remember if I said it, but I pulled the Rack off the Truck to prep them both for better cleaner shinier receiving of the Tent. The rust killing juice arrived yesterday, and tests show it’s working. So it was high time to finish cleaning out the back forty, run that rusted-out load to the dump, and then start on winter maintenance of the trees. Second load. As pictured. At the alternate dump for ‘yard waste only’. The old working Ford.
Now I can de-rust, prime, and paint the small bits that need white Rustoleum paint. And black for the rack … but … before that happens it’s the run to Hell Valley finally, Monday, for the tent, really. And a test drive of the e-Bike. Am I repeating myself? Probably. I know I’m looping recursive at least.
***
Then in the spaghetti dinner evening the fam text thread blew up about Mr. Neil Young.
I said my piece. I’m tired of talking. But I already had a bunch of links ready to go for your perusal or ignoring.
10 political notes from Neil Young (2014 and whether he’s ready for the country or not changes with the weather; welfare mothers are a dead link).
The simply moderately disdainful coverage from the nominal moderates.
They Neil Him To The Cross version.
In other somewhat screechy para-medical impolitic news. (The Canadian truckers come off much better, speaking for themselves, than they did in the distant orthodox opinion of our commie friend.)
You want disinfo, Get it straight from the Faucimouth,
and! you’ll never be rid of the Clintonian curse, and! if they hate Rumble and Substack so much, that’s the best evidence that they’re where anyone with a functioning brain stem will end up real soon.
Let do as thou wilt (and not what Joni Mitchell, Tucker Carlson, or Rachel Maddow thinks) be the whole of the law.
I voted for Uncle Joe, for dubious reasons of my own. I got vaccinated when they told me to (because, well, my Mom), and I was boycotting Spotify *before* any pop star told me to, because I try to keep big platforms the hell out of my life whenever possible on principle.
Songs like Powderfinger and Big Yellow Taxi are brilliant gems from talented artists.
Joe Rogan is not always right. Like another smart person, Dave Chappelle, he’s all quivery for the wrong reasons that trans people even exist.
All of that is deeply irrelevant.
What’s relevant is that They Own Everything and all too often that includes the brainspace of people I love, or even my own, and that’s a problem for everyone. It’s literally killing us and it hurts me that that’s not obvious, to everybody, every waking moment.
Whatever NPR tells you about Ukraine is a lie.
Whatever any billionaire-owned news portal tells you about how we’re gonna beat this darn climate change thing, is a lie.
Whatever the news brought to you be Pfizer tells you to believe about Covid, or vaccines, or Joe Rogan is a lie.
Not a mistake. Not an accident.
A premeditated and effective lie designed to take your advantage.
Please. Please. Don’t buy any of it.
That is all I really have to say about anything remotely related to the political opinions of people with more money than you and I will ever have.
A mundane day of clearing all the brush with my truckbed so that I can clear myself to turn it into a real bed next means more to me than anyone I ever voted for and every song I ever studied the lyrics to–more than any podcaster or novelist in the recorded history of humanity.
I need a life that’s less about the dreck, and more about wrapping the Eternal Juniper in my arms, and I’m working hard to get one. Help me be better, if the spirit moves you, and bless the ones I never even had to ask, With all my Heart.