Words I live by:
Invictus
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In
the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond
this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And
yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It
matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the
scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
William Ernest Henley
Friday, November 30, 2012
"Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities."
Voltaire
It is absurd to even suggest that I am any sort of domestic terrorist. And it is an atrocity to try to set me up for that charge.
The sheep who follow the whims of politicians and bureaucrats are potentially very dangerous. They'll do almost anything to further their careers. Meanwhile, I have to watch every word I say to "friendly strangers" who have been compromised by the real terrorists' lies.
Walking on eggs, fearlessly.
Voltaire
It is absurd to even suggest that I am any sort of domestic terrorist. And it is an atrocity to try to set me up for that charge.
The sheep who follow the whims of politicians and bureaucrats are potentially very dangerous. They'll do almost anything to further their careers. Meanwhile, I have to watch every word I say to "friendly strangers" who have been compromised by the real terrorists' lies.
Walking on eggs, fearlessly.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
These assholes are trying to set me up as some sort of domestic fucking terrorist, and I am extremely pissed off and totally disgusted. Now, it's out in the open for public perusal. If it continues any longer, I'm going to contact several news outlets and detail my story.
I'm 70 freaking years old, for God's sake! Just who am I supposed to be a threat to?!?
I am half deaf and wear hearing aids, I wear dentures on my upper jaw, I have two herniated discs and a synovial cyst on my L5 vertebrae, two bad shoulders, one from skydiving and the other from sailing, I have been blind in my right eye since 1966, and I have mild COPD and have to use a Combivent inhaler just to help myself breathe. Some fucking threat I am!!
They first began putting people on my back in the late winter. Friendly strangers or neighbors asking leading questions about various topics such as how much ammunition do I have, remarks designed to paint me as racist, leading questions about armor piercing ammo, and shit like that. Now, another "friendly stranger" is trying it again. Don't they ever learn? Einstein defined insanity as repeating the same behavior over and over again and expecting a different result. Here they go again. They will get the same result. Some of these people need serious psychiatric care.
First, I don't know how much ammo I own. I used to handload a lot because I was a competition shooter for years and I have a lot of low velocity pistol ammo laying around left over from those years. Revolver ammo, primarily. I have no idea just how much. Who's counting? I am also a hunter since childhood and have hunting ammo that dates back into the early 90's and plinking ammo that dates back to the '70's.
I am a handloader and I occasionally experiment with various loads to improve accuracy. To misquote the late firearms guru and ex-Texas Ranger Jeff Cooper, Only accurate firearms are interesting.
I also used to collect firearms on a very small scale, but have sold most off due to the economy and the fact that I never used them. I once traded several rifles and pistols which I saw no use for, for an expensive hunting rifle that I had always wanted to own, to a gun shop in Sturgis, South Dakota.
I don't own any armor piercing ammunition. Why would I need it? I am a target shooter and a hunter. I have used the occasional "solid" in African hunting, but that is as old as African hunting itself, back into the 19th Century. I have hunted Cape buffalo and solid rounds are occasionally preferred over soft points to use against thick skinned dangerous animals such as the buff. They certainly will not penetrate armor.
And if I were a racist, why would I have spent several cumulative years flying food relief into African civil war zones such as Somalia, the Sudan, Ethiopia and Angola, ensuring that thousands of starving blacks would live instead of dying horrible deaths, at no small risk to my life, if I were a racist, and would not have lived and worked in countries where the majority of people are black? On my first Cape buffalo hunt in Tanzania in 2006, there were six of us on the truck and I was the only white guy and I love those guys like brothers to this very day.
What The Fuck??
These nasty bitches are trying to build a bullshit case out of thin air and innuendo, with lies and half truths, and I am not fucking going for it! It's total bullshit!
True to form, these assholes are trying to create a crime and then take credit for solving it.
Now, it's out here for anyone to read who wishes to.
So, shitbirds, go piss up a rope!
I'm 70 freaking years old, for God's sake! Just who am I supposed to be a threat to?!?
I am half deaf and wear hearing aids, I wear dentures on my upper jaw, I have two herniated discs and a synovial cyst on my L5 vertebrae, two bad shoulders, one from skydiving and the other from sailing, I have been blind in my right eye since 1966, and I have mild COPD and have to use a Combivent inhaler just to help myself breathe. Some fucking threat I am!!
They first began putting people on my back in the late winter. Friendly strangers or neighbors asking leading questions about various topics such as how much ammunition do I have, remarks designed to paint me as racist, leading questions about armor piercing ammo, and shit like that. Now, another "friendly stranger" is trying it again. Don't they ever learn? Einstein defined insanity as repeating the same behavior over and over again and expecting a different result. Here they go again. They will get the same result. Some of these people need serious psychiatric care.
First, I don't know how much ammo I own. I used to handload a lot because I was a competition shooter for years and I have a lot of low velocity pistol ammo laying around left over from those years. Revolver ammo, primarily. I have no idea just how much. Who's counting? I am also a hunter since childhood and have hunting ammo that dates back into the early 90's and plinking ammo that dates back to the '70's.
I am a handloader and I occasionally experiment with various loads to improve accuracy. To misquote the late firearms guru and ex-Texas Ranger Jeff Cooper, Only accurate firearms are interesting.
I also used to collect firearms on a very small scale, but have sold most off due to the economy and the fact that I never used them. I once traded several rifles and pistols which I saw no use for, for an expensive hunting rifle that I had always wanted to own, to a gun shop in Sturgis, South Dakota.
I don't own any armor piercing ammunition. Why would I need it? I am a target shooter and a hunter. I have used the occasional "solid" in African hunting, but that is as old as African hunting itself, back into the 19th Century. I have hunted Cape buffalo and solid rounds are occasionally preferred over soft points to use against thick skinned dangerous animals such as the buff. They certainly will not penetrate armor.
And if I were a racist, why would I have spent several cumulative years flying food relief into African civil war zones such as Somalia, the Sudan, Ethiopia and Angola, ensuring that thousands of starving blacks would live instead of dying horrible deaths, at no small risk to my life, if I were a racist, and would not have lived and worked in countries where the majority of people are black? On my first Cape buffalo hunt in Tanzania in 2006, there were six of us on the truck and I was the only white guy and I love those guys like brothers to this very day.
What The Fuck??
These nasty bitches are trying to build a bullshit case out of thin air and innuendo, with lies and half truths, and I am not fucking going for it! It's total bullshit!
True to form, these assholes are trying to create a crime and then take credit for solving it.
Now, it's out here for anyone to read who wishes to.
So, shitbirds, go piss up a rope!
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
The difference between action and inaction can be telling. Sometimes, it is better to sit back and do nothing and wait. Quite often, the truth will be revealed.
I have been pursued by some really sick fucks for 34 years. Their learning curve appears to be almost flat. Sure, when you want to catch a fish, you must bait the hook. But once the fish strikes, an altogether different problem arises: setting the hook.
Several things can go wrong between the strike and attempting to set the hook. I won't bore you with fishing lore or continue the metaphor any further, with this exception...
Occasionally, the fish throws the hook, but continues to circle the bait, just to fuck with the fisherman.
I have been pursued by some really sick fucks for 34 years. Their learning curve appears to be almost flat. Sure, when you want to catch a fish, you must bait the hook. But once the fish strikes, an altogether different problem arises: setting the hook.
Several things can go wrong between the strike and attempting to set the hook. I won't bore you with fishing lore or continue the metaphor any further, with this exception...
Occasionally, the fish throws the hook, but continues to circle the bait, just to fuck with the fisherman.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
I've been mudsucked again. Saw it coming a long way off. Not at all surprised. They just keep coming. I usually play along long after they've screwed the pooch, just to see how creative they have become. The tell showed up weeks ago. They're getting better, but it's the little things that always trip them up. The Devil's in the details. I never tire of watching the assholes dig their own virtual graves. They never fail to fail.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Another immutable truth from Bukowski...
“If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery--isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you'll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you're going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It's the only good fight there is.”
― Charles Bukowski, Factotum
“If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery--isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you'll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you're going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It's the only good fight there is.”
― Charles Bukowski, Factotum
“Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not
going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times
you've felt that way.”
― Charles Bukowski
― Charles Bukowski
Monday, November 19, 2012
Been a while. Yeah, I'm still alive, in case anyone wondered.
I've been working through my grief and now I have reached the point where I have taken on another canine refugee from an abusive "owner."
We don't own dogs. We love each other, if we work at it. They give and we take, sometimes, and often, we do not realize the value of what we have been blessed with. A dog's love is forever. They will love you if you abuse them. I do not, nor will I ever, because I know the value of a good dog. I despise people who abuse dogs and cats. It is, simply, cowardice.
So now I have Gemma, a mix breed Standard Poodle/ Golden Retriever. Sounds strange, but she is beautiful. And big. Fifty pounds, at least. She is a warrior, I think. And a lover. Great combination.She suffers from separation anxiety and her "owner" beat her when she would misbehave when left alone. My vet with a heart of gold got her about two days after I had her put my little friend down and held her for me until the majority of my grief passed. I won't lie. It was Hell for a while.
Terrible thing to beat a dog. I reached down rapidly to pet her head yesterday and she ducked. She doesn't quite trust me yet and we are still checking each other out, but she is extremely smart and very gentle and obedient and I think we are going to become good friends.
Gemma is not Pix's replacement nor substitute. Gemma is her own dog and a new friend, I hope, for me. One may never replace dead friends. Only honor them and always remember them. I remember fondly every dog I have ever had. I loved them all. I still do. I always will.
And Vikki, I got your emails, in case they have blocked you. We can't converse here, but if you access the blog, at least you'll know you got through.
Once again when I go to sleep, they will slime their pathetic way into my bedroom and mess around with one thing or another that belongs to me. I could care less. They have stolen almost everything I valued and I am completely unafraid of dying, so if they kill me in my sleep, as they totally lack the balls to confront me above ground in daylight, I'll pass through the door into the last, great adventure.
Another one of my flying buddies took it in last week. Prostate cancer. We're dropping like flies. Our day is done. But we cut a swath through the world of aviation in our time. We were good. A few of us were great. Nothing they can steal can take those incredible years from me, or change one iota the friendships I made or the respect I earned. Nothing. That's what matters in life.
All the whiners and parasites can fuck off. Stand on your own feet and seek your goals and life may just cut you a break. Walking around with your hand out thinking the world owes you shit guarantees a life without self respect. When death is about to come knocking, and she always does, if you have no self respect, you will have lived for naught. You will not be mourned.
I've been working through my grief and now I have reached the point where I have taken on another canine refugee from an abusive "owner."
We don't own dogs. We love each other, if we work at it. They give and we take, sometimes, and often, we do not realize the value of what we have been blessed with. A dog's love is forever. They will love you if you abuse them. I do not, nor will I ever, because I know the value of a good dog. I despise people who abuse dogs and cats. It is, simply, cowardice.
So now I have Gemma, a mix breed Standard Poodle/ Golden Retriever. Sounds strange, but she is beautiful. And big. Fifty pounds, at least. She is a warrior, I think. And a lover. Great combination.She suffers from separation anxiety and her "owner" beat her when she would misbehave when left alone. My vet with a heart of gold got her about two days after I had her put my little friend down and held her for me until the majority of my grief passed. I won't lie. It was Hell for a while.
Terrible thing to beat a dog. I reached down rapidly to pet her head yesterday and she ducked. She doesn't quite trust me yet and we are still checking each other out, but she is extremely smart and very gentle and obedient and I think we are going to become good friends.
Gemma is not Pix's replacement nor substitute. Gemma is her own dog and a new friend, I hope, for me. One may never replace dead friends. Only honor them and always remember them. I remember fondly every dog I have ever had. I loved them all. I still do. I always will.
And Vikki, I got your emails, in case they have blocked you. We can't converse here, but if you access the blog, at least you'll know you got through.
Once again when I go to sleep, they will slime their pathetic way into my bedroom and mess around with one thing or another that belongs to me. I could care less. They have stolen almost everything I valued and I am completely unafraid of dying, so if they kill me in my sleep, as they totally lack the balls to confront me above ground in daylight, I'll pass through the door into the last, great adventure.
Another one of my flying buddies took it in last week. Prostate cancer. We're dropping like flies. Our day is done. But we cut a swath through the world of aviation in our time. We were good. A few of us were great. Nothing they can steal can take those incredible years from me, or change one iota the friendships I made or the respect I earned. Nothing. That's what matters in life.
All the whiners and parasites can fuck off. Stand on your own feet and seek your goals and life may just cut you a break. Walking around with your hand out thinking the world owes you shit guarantees a life without self respect. When death is about to come knocking, and she always does, if you have no self respect, you will have lived for naught. You will not be mourned.
Monday, November 5, 2012
“We are
Born like this
Into this
Into these carefully mad wars
Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
Into bars where people no longer speak to each other
Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
Born into this
Into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die
Into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty
Born like this
Into this
Into these carefully mad wars
Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
Into bars where people no longer speak to each other
Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
Born into this
Into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die
Into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty
Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes”
― Charles Bukowski
Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes”
― Charles Bukowski
Sunday, November 4, 2012
The Lion lies in his lair in the perpendicular face of a low cliff — for he is carved from the living rock of the cliff. His size is colossal, his attitude is noble. His head is bowed, the broken spear is sticking in his shoulder, his protecting paw rests upon the lilies of France. Vines hang down the cliff and wave in the wind, and a clear stream trickles from above and empties into a pond at the base, and in the smooth surface of the pond the lion is mirrored, among the water-lilies.
Around about are green trees and grass. The place is a sheltered, reposeful woodland nook, remote from noise and stir and confusion — and all this is fitting, for lions do die in such places, and not on granite pedestals in public squares fenced with fancy iron railings. The Lion of Lucerne would be impressive anywhere, but nowhere so impressive as where he is.
— Mark Twain, A Tramp Abroad, 1880
Saturday, November 3, 2012
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