Back in Nam when the rations didn’t come thru, you lived off your coconuts. Some locals here use the meat and wellspring to avoid all forms of hard labor. If you know how to drain the nut, which an adept can do with a dull knife, you have everything you need. Deodorant even soap or bathing are unnecessary for the healthy jungle eater, although one’s clothes suffer from a sour dough mildew. My new guru Spicoli set up a lawn chair outback in the woods and fashioned himself a tent with rope hung out a like hammock between two trees. Plastic trash bags he picked up at the dump drape over his lawn chair and sleeping bag. He enjoys the song of the Kauai O’o Bird and has abandoned his car here, suggesting it’s part of a work trade. The details of what we get never quite hammered out. His forté is barefoot with a chainsaw, tree trimming stoned, but what if he falls and self amputates on my property, then what?
To deconstruct a coniferous anti-mulch pile I piled originally to demote weeds. For the leak here. Thru the ooze of black mold. Instant sinusitis for the immunity challenged. And it’s already back to bed and my convalescence.
With never ending rain this week the leak somewhere trickling in the garden. Underneath a pile of papers the water bill wallop 2X 3X 4X. Feeding the jungle along the line to the house from the street. Logic might promote searching below the most buoyant growth. But I’m about as inclined to dig a trench as use a diving rod to uproot this moist gurgle of spillage.
A guy definitely buried these pipes. And my design isn’t that of my counterpart. Winning competitions on SURVIVOR. Combatants who think geckos bring good fortune. Don’t dust my roach population. A shit out entire linage decimated by carnivorous left over dinosaur men. Who extrude MINE_UTE white stripe logs that desiccate. Leaving a snow FLAK-E ash of shit, infesting the reality of everything.
Running a maze. Into a ravine and suddenly flooded back; a fractured apartment complex. The kaleidoscopic concrete infrastructure architect MC ESCHER? A turnstile dam obstacle course and I’m not a fan of steampunk or meth assemblage. Even if my most authentic self had the muscle to hammer A permaculture of my own insurrection.