First Post From the Woods

It's just after 10 PM, and I'm here in the woods at the campsite. I can hear Smokie and KB making conversation over there in their tent, but can't make out the words. Enough distance to create a bit of privacy, but still close enough to call out if need be, commenting on the raccoons or the opossums making a racket or...was that a police radio I think I just heard?

I just learned how to write out here in the woods and then transfer my copy to the blog when I can get within wifi range. So that helps. Yes, Lord.

Another magic day. Met Sistah Carrie at Lift, heard about the Blue Spiral over Norway. That really set Smokie off. “It's the BlueBeam Card,” he cried. “The Alien Card. The last card in the deck.”

Last card in the deck?

“A whole series of cards which can and must be played in order for the New World Order to be successful. The leaked emails meant that Copenhagen wasn't gonna happen, so they had to play the Alien Card. The BlueBeam Card. Obama's gonna announce the reality of extraterrestial beings and that we've been in communication with them.”

Indeed. Well, there are strange things afoot here in the Shire, as Gandalf might observe. Obama winning the Nobel Peace Prize on the strength of...what? Coming out of nowhere and through a brilliant campaign winning the nomination and then the Presidency? Who woulda thunk it a couple or three years ago? And remember—I supported Obama. Actually sent his campaign some money.

Forces are afoot. Some immense shift of paradigm.

I think, how easy it would be for the Simulation to have created the Blue Spiral.

A few keystrokes on the super-computer and...shazzam...the BlueBeam appears. (You'll need to read Nick Bostrom's theory of the Simulation.”)

Meanwhile the battery inexorably drains even as the sleeping bag begins to warm. It's a peaceful time out here in the woods. It's chilly but I'm not cold. I am so layered-up that I can barely button my trousers—and that's with layers outside the pants, too. Heh, heh. Something like 7 or 8 layers. Holy Moly, eh?

We've eaten. The kids (Smokie and KB) didn't make the food truck but I did. Asked for and got two extra bags to take for them. Hooked up with them at Lift, and the food made their evening. So, as I said, we've eaten. Had a 420 moment or three. Drank some excellent coffee. Entertained ourselves with tales from the Eschaton—end of the world.

But now it's quiet. I can hear the keyboard clicking and clacking. Traffic off in the distance. And before long a train will pass by so close that it sounds like it's bearing right down on us. I rather enjoy that. Memory tosses me back to my childhood when I lay in a bed about as far from the tracks as I am now.

Tomorrow is the tenth. Perhaps another ten days or so, and then I'll go back inside. Smokie and KB will remain out here in the cold. They will clutch each other and cling to their understandings of conspiracy. I enjoy them, their company, without having to be a believer. I simply am here. Looking, watching, weighing, seeking out the Magick.

Stay warm, dry, and at peace.

Hmmm. Wonder if the line that appears across this page will show up in the blog? And isn't it weird that the word blog still has that squiggly line under it indicating that it's misspelled?

The food truck wasn't on the itinerary and actually didn't come. KB went to the one there at Wooldridge Park, but I don't like going there. Too many Crackheads, pushing and shoving, cutting in line. All those ultimately self-defeating survival behaviors the scammers of this world carry about with them.

Supposed to rain tomorrow, supposed to be cold tonight. I was comfy all night long, thanks to Charlie's sleeping bag and the two blankies. Didn't even use one of them.

Up at the Springs, Sunken Gardens, Will the Troubadour was there with his guitar. So I'm standing there wearing gloves with hands shoved into my pockets (and still a wee bit chilly) when Will begins trying to play the guitar wearing mittens. Well, I've heard worse. But then the Spirit entered in and Will ripped the mittens off and began playing in the bitter cold.

There were five or six of us standing around, one with a harmonica he couldn't quite get up to speed with Will's playing. Jeremy from Tennessee out of smokes, snipes, tobacco of any kind. Old Man John with his hungry old husky, Mita. Black John on his latest bike. And me.

And the truck didn't come. It almost always comes on Thursday, but not today. It was dark, had been dark for an hour or so, when we finally gave up.

Back down the hill to Lift Cafe, just in time to help Danny a bit with the tables. Good people, here at Lift. It's a clean, well-lighted place (thank you, Ernest Hemingway), the help is...helpful and friendy, and Life stumbles and staggers on.

The Kids, Smokie and KB, are at some New World Order Legendary Writer/Speaker affair. They invited me to come along, but I felt more like checking the scene out down here on the south side of the river.

They'll hit Sixth Street tonight, seeking what they can find. Remember that KB came up with the Blackberry, the one that didn't have wifi? Smokie sold that one for $60and bought one with wifi. He's a porcine in clover.

Of course the Buddha sez that all life is suffering.

And Elton John rebuts by saying, “The boulevard is not that bad.” Boulevard, street, same difference.

So the evening is winding down. I'm drinking the last coffee of the day, am not concerned about the cold—so long as the tent is still there when I get back to campsite—and all is well in my little world.

See, leaving the tent up is a bit of a gamble. So I try to leave only the stuff there that I could get along without in a pinch. I carry the sleeping bag and a blankie with me on the handlebars of the bike in the $3.00 bag I bought the day I lost my first computer.

In a pinch I could rustle up some cardboard for a sleeping mat and make it through the night with just the sleeping bag and the blankie. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but it would be bearable.

I'm one of the lucky ones. I have decent gear and that makes all the difference.

Enough for tonight.

Thanks for being here with me in spirit.

Stay warm and dry,

Elijah