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novembre 2018   01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30
I watched, "Pirate Radio," (movie), last night.  Not a blockbuster.  Quirky and silly and right on the edge of being boring.  But good enough to watch.  I have an interest in the subject of pirate radio.  As of 5 years ago, there actually was or has been a "pirate" radio in the North Sea, although the revolutionary enterprise ended in 1967.  Cute little 1960's dances and montages.  It's energy keeps pushing on like, "Hairspray," with with less polish and coherence.  Also comparable to, "Sing Street," as an homage to pop music.  A blend of psychedelic Beatles and Monty Python humour is attempted.  Features Tom Wisdom - and the New Zealand comic actor I like, Rhys Darby, who has a fuller role in Jim Carrey's. "Yes Man."



Yesterday evening, I got a few regular kitcheny things done and, looking back, it is kind of impressive how much I get done sometimes, even during rote tasks. Last night: I got the coffee brewed, the grounds+spices rebrewed; I cooked up some pinto beans which turned out great but required several pots/etc.; I built up the fermenting veggie juice and set it out; and I built up the fermenting chocolate drink and set it out. Later, I added water from the boiled beans to these two drinks. I have found that bean juice is a great complementary food for fermenting microbes. Great for the chocolate, because it is kinda like chocolate, and it all gets added to coffee when I do my mocha in the morning. Simple things, easilly done while I focus on the computer or a movie. But, when you think about it, that is a lot to get done. I call this: "Efficiency."

I pushed myself out the door this morning, immediately after I was out with dog. I walked towards the Human Services office, in order to expedite food stamps, etc. Some younger black dude jauntilly saunterred from the other side of the street and deliberately started walking right at me, meaning to intimidate me, and force me out of his way, like any other white coward around here. While he was still 10-20 feet away, I yelled, "You wanna walk RIGHT INTO ME?!"

He didn't expect this so I repeated myself just as he approached, and so he just said, "No."

"No. OK." and I let him pass, no worries. I never budged, btw.

Got the stuff done did at the welfare office, and headed back home. As expected, there he was, further up the road, grouping and gossipping with a black female, and then standing out in the open just waiting menacingly for me to approach.

As I did approach, I casually checked for the little baton in my bag, then I flipped my hand 'round back and pulled out a knife, which I then slipped between my left hand thumb and the compact umbrella stick I was carrying, easilly accessible to my right hand. I was ready to go to town on this joker, despite feeling a bit ill and woozy. I also had an axe under my jacket, protecting my heart. Sometimes I also have a large chopping knife. Why? Because I have been threatened by a lot of new idiots around here.

The guy saw my movements and realised I had at least one weapon, and that very quickly sharpened his senses, and he passed by with ample bearth like a perfect gentleman. This is called: "Efficiency."

Later this evening, I took my dog out, and young black dudes in hoods and groups were all over the street. The gossip had instantly got around. Even the evil jackass from next-door came out and started mulling this way and that, in front of me, showing off his all-important cellphone. This is what they do for a living. But nobody bothered, shall we say, to start trouble with me.

I heard someone on NPR arguing that all immigration issues amounted to a problem of space. Immigrants are seeking space for homes, for schooling, for jobs. And that's right. And that's what it is, here, and in all tough neighbourhoods: A battle for stupid, irrelevant space. Territory. The right to walk down a street and push a white person out of the way, thus asserting that the street, "is MINE." The street is "owned" by the blacks. Well, if I support that, then I support racism.

So, it may seem that I am being a testy male cracker, but I am doing folks a favour, refusing the racist or bully crap, which the majority of older and family blacks dislike anyway. I am more and more known among them as a good white man, "but he don't take no shit!" And that's something they respect. I could do without the whole business. And it could all turn on a dime, when they go back to thinking I am a crazy white person again. I'm not from around here, did I mention? I come from Planet A.

Back inside, I cooked up some amazing faux-meat, from those beans, some pea soup, an egg, garlic, salt and chili - for my tacos. What a fun and wonderful meal. I eat tacos for the fiber and veggies too. Earlier, I had some left over green bean casserole - just a little - but it's like I'm living in a restaurant, even as I lack my food stamps. It's all because I practice an art of highest quality outcome, for least amount of energy input. This is something I call: "Efficiency."

Why efficiency? Why me? I have no choice, having CFS, which consumes away most all of my energy and my life. My only choice in life is to go Zen.

I speak with a kind, quiet, manly voice when I call to set up my bus appointment for tomorrow. they always know who it is when I call. There is a female dispatcher named Jesse who answers. whenever I meet a girl named Jesse, it's like, "Woe! That's the kind of name to make me have sex with you! I dunno what it is!" Well, it's not really as bad as that, but I like that name for a girl. And this female has a nice voice. Once, after I told her I was going to the book sale, she asked about it, and I invited her to meet up. She never did. Or it was a somewhat plump girl who bopped in and then out again. Which is fine.

This time, I set up my bus appointment with Jesse, and she explained that she had to write it down for the afternoon people, while I just kinda said, "I know, I know...". When we said goodbye, I noticed that she did so briskly and kinda weird. Later I thought, "Hey! Maybe she was trying to tell me that she gets off at noon!" I'm going to ask a bus driver if she's cute/nice. One of the bus drivers reminds me of Rhys Darby.

This time, I am not taking the bus to combine grocery shopping with thrift shopping with laundry with the library with buying wine with dropping off and picking up at the pantry, etc. This time, I mainly just need to go get more sunflower seeds, with my own money. By bus. That may not sound too efficient, but you don't know sunflower seeds like I know sunflower seeds.

If I can do this without having to deal with hoodlums, or human beings in general, including bus drivers and Jesse, then I will consider myself to have had a very efficient day. The main thing, dear reader, is that I conserve all energy for when I am back home with you, writing all about the horrors of my life, which symbolize the full collapse of civilisation. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon; and for the rest of your life...

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