To contact us Click HERE
Many mysteries were revealed in my first day at work. It's like all the practical projects I've been involved in for the last few years have culminated in making me custom fit for a job in hydro-fracturing and gas recovery. How did that work out? Because I'm an assembly fiend who also likes standardized installations. But philosophically I'm torn. I like difficult jobs where I can think about other things and in a few weeks this will be one of them.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
13 Ekim 2012 Cumartesi
American Made
To contact us Click HERE
The next thing you know I'll be trading in the van for a 2013 Super Duty Diesel truck with 18'' rims and a sticker on the back that says "Oil Field Trash And Proud Of It"
Today was payday and I got the biggest check I've ever seen in my life...and it was only for 2 days that I worked last week. Of course I've never worked over vats of hydrogen sulfide either. Today I was in the danger zone and a few strands of my bangs fell in front of the respirator. I vowed I would either cut them off myself or go to a barber. Fortunately we got back to the hotel early and I paid double for the barber to stay open late. Those stories I heard about 22 year old kids with $5000 of casual cash in their pockets are completely true. Suffice to say that I won't be volunteering to pick up trash in Walmart parking lots for a long time.
I'm training myself to be a crew leader and I am mentally picking my dream team of people I want to have the company pay to have sent here to work on my crew. One has a kid who would cry if his father never came back. The other is a loose cannon/maverick. And one other just got a gig at the Navy Yard refurbishing the U.S.S. Miami...which means he'll be sipping coffee for 8 hours at $20 an hour and that's hard to walk away from. And the other was half blind and is dead now so my dream team is probably not going to materialize and I'll be left with men from the valley on the border. I'm jealous because the Mexican Americans all know each other and are friends and it makes all the difference with inside jokes and lighthearted amusement. They make horrible mistakes with running wires but are basically protected by their association with the crew leader...who could train them better but has no time. If I had my dream team of 4 close friends we would clean up like bandits in an abandoned bank and we would have the best time in the world for no longer than a year...at which point I will seriously be retiring to Costa Rica.
But taking one thing at a time I am only at 90% confidence level and when I'm at 100% then I might be making some serious phone calls to assemble the A team. Stay tuned.
 |
| I asked for the "Top Gun" haircut and that's what I got. |
Today was payday and I got the biggest check I've ever seen in my life...and it was only for 2 days that I worked last week. Of course I've never worked over vats of hydrogen sulfide either. Today I was in the danger zone and a few strands of my bangs fell in front of the respirator. I vowed I would either cut them off myself or go to a barber. Fortunately we got back to the hotel early and I paid double for the barber to stay open late. Those stories I heard about 22 year old kids with $5000 of casual cash in their pockets are completely true. Suffice to say that I won't be volunteering to pick up trash in Walmart parking lots for a long time.
I'm training myself to be a crew leader and I am mentally picking my dream team of people I want to have the company pay to have sent here to work on my crew. One has a kid who would cry if his father never came back. The other is a loose cannon/maverick. And one other just got a gig at the Navy Yard refurbishing the U.S.S. Miami...which means he'll be sipping coffee for 8 hours at $20 an hour and that's hard to walk away from. And the other was half blind and is dead now so my dream team is probably not going to materialize and I'll be left with men from the valley on the border. I'm jealous because the Mexican Americans all know each other and are friends and it makes all the difference with inside jokes and lighthearted amusement. They make horrible mistakes with running wires but are basically protected by their association with the crew leader...who could train them better but has no time. If I had my dream team of 4 close friends we would clean up like bandits in an abandoned bank and we would have the best time in the world for no longer than a year...at which point I will seriously be retiring to Costa Rica.
But taking one thing at a time I am only at 90% confidence level and when I'm at 100% then I might be making some serious phone calls to assemble the A team. Stay tuned.
Torque Screwdriver
To contact us Click HERE
Question: What kind of a person would shop for a $240 torque screwdriver?Answer: A rich one.
We used one of these screwdrivers at my semi-conductor cable harness gig. The screws on the power supply connector required 12lbs of torque and hearing that indicator click was like an orgasm to my engineering personality. I vowed if I could ever afford one I would get one not because I need it (how many screws come with torque specs?) but because the thing is a work of mechanical engineering art and it's the best screwdriver I've ever used. King Arthur has his Excalibur; I have a torquing screwdriver.
And if you think this is a frivolous purchase you should see what other people are buying. My coworkers wonder how I can be so frugal.
Question: What kind of a person would shop for a $240 torque screwdriver?Answer: A rich one.
We used one of these screwdrivers at my semi-conductor cable harness gig. The screws on the power supply connector required 12lbs of torque and hearing that indicator click was like an orgasm to my engineering personality. I vowed if I could ever afford one I would get one not because I need it (how many screws come with torque specs?) but because the thing is a work of mechanical engineering art and it's the best screwdriver I've ever used. King Arthur has his Excalibur; I have a torquing screwdriver.
And if you think this is a frivolous purchase you should see what other people are buying. My coworkers wonder how I can be so frugal.
12 Ekim 2012 Cuma
I'm Fine. How Are You?
To contact us Click HERE
Many mysteries were revealed in my first day at work. It's like all the practical projects I've been involved in for the last few years have culminated in making me custom fit for a job in hydro-fracturing and gas recovery. How did that work out? Because I'm an assembly fiend who also likes standardized installations. But philosophically I'm torn. I like difficult jobs where I can think about other things and in a few weeks this will be one of them.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
Peasant Sly Confinement
To contact us Click HERE
"...Well, the people of the outside world were no less proud of their bad manners, of their lack of culture and coarse vulgar humor, their peasant-sly confinement to practical, selfish aims, so that they appeared no less precious, sanctimonious and eclectic in their narrow-minded naturalness than the most affected Waldzellian prize scholar."
Plinio to Joseph when he confesses that his criticism of the monastic, reflective, ponderous, Castalian Life was premature.
Yes, the people of the world are coarse and narrow minded. Their blighted worldview hardly changes from one generation to the next. Their trucks and cars all evolve on separate tracks than their mental paradigm. I'll join this crowd inwardly, which is the most dangerous of all paths. Outwardly, I danced with convention but rarely slept with her. Inwardly I've always resisted the mob mentality of spawned fish sitting in traffic with cell phones all returning to the same stream each day to give birth to useless ideas and more waste paper. Even in Los Angeles I rode a motorcycle that was originally won on The Price is Right and strapped $8000 worth of boutique guitar effects pedals to the luggage rack each week. I sat in traffic but not for long. Now I'm one of the working boys on the outside and bit by bit the metamorphosis is changing my worldview on the inside. Again, the nature of the dangerous environment and deadly conditions require total focus. Forgive me, friends and lovers, if I stop thinking about you 24 hours a day. It does not mean I am not devoted to you but I can not have it both ways any more. I am either fully present in the respirator hovering over the gaseous vat of death as I dangle by my toes and attach wire straps and screw tiny wires into holes, or I'll die.
Let it go on the record that I mentally juggled my resentments and regrets and fantasies and friends and Spanish Moss-haired Minx Gypsies all day long in my cavernous van...for years...but those days must end and at the end of a hard day on the hydro-fracturing oil well I reflect, "I haven't thought about her in hours," and a chill passes through my neck because it's the same as saying, "I have no past and no future, only a present devoted to oil and natural gas." And I wonder if it's better or much worse.
What is love but unhealthy devotion and perennial obsession? That's what I learned in school. Is that wrong? As my memory is supplanted by my present predicament I cry false tears of despair that I may be forgiven or at least allowed a few hours (12) per day to concentrate only on my near death and threat of death. I've been given a choice of life without a memory or death with a fragrant name drifting from my chilled lips. How can I choose without first asking for forgiveness? Everyone forgive me as your memory is eradicated by hogs lying dead in the road and a roaring flame of gas venting into the poisoned atmosphere. I can not justify the virtual altar that I have been keeping lone vigil over these long years. The lover's cross must be used as firewood.
The world rewards reckless industry and disdains the poet's altar erected for lonely affairs and philosophical predictions. Family and industry are the fuels of civilization. Despair is for cemetery ghosts and owls hunting in the night.
 |
| Worn universality from broken EGR valves and grease and philosophy |
Plinio to Joseph when he confesses that his criticism of the monastic, reflective, ponderous, Castalian Life was premature.
Yes, the people of the world are coarse and narrow minded. Their blighted worldview hardly changes from one generation to the next. Their trucks and cars all evolve on separate tracks than their mental paradigm. I'll join this crowd inwardly, which is the most dangerous of all paths. Outwardly, I danced with convention but rarely slept with her. Inwardly I've always resisted the mob mentality of spawned fish sitting in traffic with cell phones all returning to the same stream each day to give birth to useless ideas and more waste paper. Even in Los Angeles I rode a motorcycle that was originally won on The Price is Right and strapped $8000 worth of boutique guitar effects pedals to the luggage rack each week. I sat in traffic but not for long. Now I'm one of the working boys on the outside and bit by bit the metamorphosis is changing my worldview on the inside. Again, the nature of the dangerous environment and deadly conditions require total focus. Forgive me, friends and lovers, if I stop thinking about you 24 hours a day. It does not mean I am not devoted to you but I can not have it both ways any more. I am either fully present in the respirator hovering over the gaseous vat of death as I dangle by my toes and attach wire straps and screw tiny wires into holes, or I'll die.
Let it go on the record that I mentally juggled my resentments and regrets and fantasies and friends and Spanish Moss-haired Minx Gypsies all day long in my cavernous van...for years...but those days must end and at the end of a hard day on the hydro-fracturing oil well I reflect, "I haven't thought about her in hours," and a chill passes through my neck because it's the same as saying, "I have no past and no future, only a present devoted to oil and natural gas." And I wonder if it's better or much worse.
What is love but unhealthy devotion and perennial obsession? That's what I learned in school. Is that wrong? As my memory is supplanted by my present predicament I cry false tears of despair that I may be forgiven or at least allowed a few hours (12) per day to concentrate only on my near death and threat of death. I've been given a choice of life without a memory or death with a fragrant name drifting from my chilled lips. How can I choose without first asking for forgiveness? Everyone forgive me as your memory is eradicated by hogs lying dead in the road and a roaring flame of gas venting into the poisoned atmosphere. I can not justify the virtual altar that I have been keeping lone vigil over these long years. The lover's cross must be used as firewood.
 |
| The gas flare of my heart must be extinguished. |
11 Ekim 2012 Perşembe
I'm Fine. How Are You?
To contact us Click HERE
Many mysteries were revealed in my first day at work. It's like all the practical projects I've been involved in for the last few years have culminated in making me custom fit for a job in hydro-fracturing and gas recovery. How did that work out? Because I'm an assembly fiend who also likes standardized installations. But philosophically I'm torn. I like difficult jobs where I can think about other things and in a few weeks this will be one of them.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
10 Ekim 2012 Çarşamba
I'm Fine. How Are You?
To contact us Click HERE
Many mysteries were revealed in my first day at work. It's like all the practical projects I've been involved in for the last few years have culminated in making me custom fit for a job in hydro-fracturing and gas recovery. How did that work out? Because I'm an assembly fiend who also likes standardized installations. But philosophically I'm torn. I like difficult jobs where I can think about other things and in a few weeks this will be one of them.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
I Know Why The Pregnant Robot Got An Abortion
To contact us Click HERE
See, the real world doesn't correspond to my style of blogging and I think that's what Mr. Pregnant Robot determined also and went into retirement. I reflect on today and it's not so much a blur, but it's character-less and lacks anecdotes and many details were banished from my mind to be replaced by actual job skills. I've never seen a spring bolt before but now I know how to instal them with the wrong side up. In fact, the grave seriousness of the situation has almost deactivated my entire mechanism for remembering and notating anecdotes. I trained myself over years to concentrate on details and read people in order to get the story behind the story. That wasn't a gift but something I cultivated by sacrificing any acceptable level of production and job ethic. Go ahead, blame the fall of the economy on me. I decided that if I wanted to be Hermann Hesse or John Steinbeck then I would have to live a fairly unconventional life and also I would have to pay complete attention to everything except what I was paid to be doing. I would catalog smells and sights and sounds and locations and all the details that must be included in a story. Work? Oh, I'd get to it eventually.
And that worked pretty well because now it is automatic for me to include these important details that gave Steinbeck his magic. The mental work has already been completed and my "writing voice" is finally in place and I'm confident in being able to say what I want to say in my own style. So all the suffering and absent minded job loss was worth it because I'm able to recreate the moments I believed were important to the human condition and create art. If this applies to my fiction writing then I'm going to be very happy.
Now this skill has to take a break because I look back on today and I'm actually distracted by writing even this brief note* because the real work that I need to accomplish right now is a due diligence order of operation and spec manual for the assembly I'm doing.
Is it more important than blogging about the experiences in which I concluded that I need a due diligence order of operation manual? It must be because I have nothing more on the topic I want to write about. And since the non-disclosure agreement I signed prohibits any mention of the order of operation, I can't even share that. Please amuse yourself with previous posts.
* It's like Oggy is no longer writing this blog.
And that worked pretty well because now it is automatic for me to include these important details that gave Steinbeck his magic. The mental work has already been completed and my "writing voice" is finally in place and I'm confident in being able to say what I want to say in my own style. So all the suffering and absent minded job loss was worth it because I'm able to recreate the moments I believed were important to the human condition and create art. If this applies to my fiction writing then I'm going to be very happy.
Now this skill has to take a break because I look back on today and I'm actually distracted by writing even this brief note* because the real work that I need to accomplish right now is a due diligence order of operation and spec manual for the assembly I'm doing.
Is it more important than blogging about the experiences in which I concluded that I need a due diligence order of operation manual? It must be because I have nothing more on the topic I want to write about. And since the non-disclosure agreement I signed prohibits any mention of the order of operation, I can't even share that. Please amuse yourself with previous posts.
* It's like Oggy is no longer writing this blog.
9 Ekim 2012 Salı
I'm Fine. How Are You?
To contact us Click HERE
Many mysteries were revealed in my first day at work. It's like all the practical projects I've been involved in for the last few years have culminated in making me custom fit for a job in hydro-fracturing and gas recovery. How did that work out? Because I'm an assembly fiend who also likes standardized installations. But philosophically I'm torn. I like difficult jobs where I can think about other things and in a few weeks this will be one of them.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
8 Ekim 2012 Pazartesi
I'm Fine. How Are You?
To contact us Click HERE
Many mysteries were revealed in my first day at work. It's like all the practical projects I've been involved in for the last few years have culminated in making me custom fit for a job in hydro-fracturing and gas recovery. How did that work out? Because I'm an assembly fiend who also likes standardized installations. But philosophically I'm torn. I like difficult jobs where I can think about other things and in a few weeks this will be one of them.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
World And Sprit Sublimate
To contact us Click HERE
A theme throughout the works of Hermann Hesse is the opposed conditions of the spiritual life within pondering penitents in monasteries and the worldly life among politicians and soldiers and peasant wood carvers and club footed children. I will give you a passage from the glass bead game where Joseph reflects on his friendship with another student...
"The antithesis: world and spirit--or rather, the antithesis: Plinio and Joseph - had sublimated itself before my eyes into an harmony out of the struggle between two irreconcilable principles."
Where do I stand in the war between Night and the Arctic Wolf's sovereignty? Poncho says I have now lost and he's right for the wrong reasons. I lost long ago...say when mankind discovered fire and it was taken away and Prometheus stole it back and now we use it to burn our own homes down to stay warm. But I refuse to admit defeat and so the battle continues in a futile mockery of madness that delights and angers those who know me. I should at once "Remain true to my code" which is a joke and actually a crime in America today, but I should also be "Realistic" and cultivate skills that have value among men. These contradict each other obviously.
Reading the Climate Progress website or global warming editorials was enough to give me some idea of the cause and effect and synthetic devices we rely on but without first hand experience then I remained a monk in the high tower studying old manuscripts that were edited by blind scholars. My analogy would be to a Baptist in Las Vegas during the Silver rush of 1890. It's now called Sin City for a reason but there are also Baptist churches there. So who won? The silver merchants and deadwood saloon/brothel owners or the white collared minister? Labrador City is a company town devoted to Iron Ore mining. My wolf quest was the equivalent of a broken pencil tip in the glove box of one of the janitors who has sex with one of the mine employees. And it splintered my financial situation and utterly taxed all my resources and mental acuity, leading to a 18 month decline in health and weight and direction until I actually was evicted by the police from a parking lot in NH and could not find work and was destitute and deranged processing Nova Scotia lobsters all December in order to fund my escape.
I do not regret the quest that actually was designed in September 2009 but took every single penny I had in addition to pennies I have yet to earn and was completed in September 2011 and involved more suffering and self denial and hitchhiking and trips to Missouri and this and that. You need only read the posts from 11/09-11/11 to see what I'm talking about. I was evicted from Canada once, rolled backwards down an icy hill one night in Maine, Spent 3 months making a mosaic fleur de lis, then drove 3000 miles in a loop around the NE tip of North America and at one time actually drove over some of the oceanic crust that did not subduct under the continent 100 million years ago, but formed Gros Morne national park instead...The fruit of that trip was my residence at Battle Harbour Island and the people I met along the way. None of it was possible without Halliburton energy and the Arctic Wolf might not be imperiled without Haliburton. Who knows? But the contradiction is not lost on me and while the voyage itself was spawned in reflection and concern for the wolf's future, it was funded by resource exploitation and the scales have not yet balanced out. The moral algebra equation remains to be solved for X.
The $20 million church restoration in Austin entailed 10 hour days moving 100 pound masonite boards up 4 flights of broken stairs into an attic that was like a blast furnace. The IRS forms I processed in Missouri covered brothels in New Jersey and money laundering mobsters in New York and Investment bankers who crippled the entire economy with their pitiful currency trading schemes. I fixed leaking mobile homes and raked lawns for old age communities. I repaired a gold wing motorcycle and probably destroyed a shitty Pontiac Firebird.I know that the two realms of spirit and world are rarely united. Either a Trappist Monastery in Iowa is my destiny or an Electrical engineering firm in Texas. They can never be sublimated without complete mental breakdown. Purity is a young man's pursuit and I hoped that by pursuing it then I could remain young but the gray in my beard doesn't wash out and my eyes are sometimes blurry and my neck flaps sag in rank despair. My shrunken penis mocks my callused palm. Pursuit of Purity does not a young man make...and old men look like fools in Bermuda shorts.My problem in the past has been thinking that a short term commitment is long term contradiction and equivocation. But by turning down jobs like the chemical warfare testing gig in Santa Monica that paid $80K a year on moral principles actually led me to do something quite similar with guitar effects pedals for $30K a year with no future and not much skill involved. But I got to play guitar and write so I paid $50K a year to contemplate writing screenplays and learn some blues licks. That's a shitty investment and morally I don't think there was much difference...and practically speaking there was zero difference. The chemical warfare folks found someone else to do their job. A ripple in a large lake doesn't mean a frog is pissing somewhere.
For the past week I've almost been thinking like a normal person. Maybe my chemicals are aligned with Jupiter's retrograde flight through the heavens. Maybe the end of 2012 and the end of the Mayan era mean my stars are aligned and what is nonsense will be recognized as such. Maybe I'm like Bob Dylan who just when everyone wants and expects him to become a folk hero with his harmonica he buys an electric guitar and says, "Turn it up Real loud". You want Churros in Tijuana and I give you the peak of a natural gas well. Maybe the performance art piece that is my life has evolved into a new kind of skit. I wanted a change and this blog is about organic change for the sake of spontaneity. It's not about appeasing my predictable fans.
The Spirit world had dominated only my spiritual half while my body had basically just been leading a conventional life like a homeless drunk except not drunk. But spiritually I was in a four wheel monastery. SO I was in the world but resisting it and running from it without the resources to hide completely. I can say that's the worst condition and the list of my allies grew shorter and shorter by the day. I knew that I would either collapse or flee blindly with no fuel, carrying a guitar and a bible to Mexico and then Guatemala or else repair motorcycles in zen harmony. But the other mechanics smoked like chimneys and I was dying there...and had nothing. It really was the end for me. I had absolutely no options...no money...no direction...the van could not run...no allies....poisoned air everywhere...winter coming....ethics and idle platitudes intermingled and I could not sleep with the silver legged west nile carrying mosquitoes biting me all day on the neck and hands. Truly a ridiculous and pathetic end with grease and oil under my nails, naked pissing in the moonlight, 10 stray dogs baying at me and chasing my moped...a fucking coal trail waking me up at 5:30 am with my tinnitus growing worse every day with smoke in the air of my futility. My next door neighbor was a meat packing plant. The only other person I knew in Corpus was a multiple personality gypsy. On and on.
This is destiny...or God's guiding hand...opening a door when all were closed. I prayed and there was no other answer. Closer Walk With Thee so my spirit may find peace in this world and not a Disney fantasy I manufacture from works of pagan literature. None but Thee my burden shares...and probably not even thee.
"The antithesis: world and spirit--or rather, the antithesis: Plinio and Joseph - had sublimated itself before my eyes into an harmony out of the struggle between two irreconcilable principles."
Where do I stand in the war between Night and the Arctic Wolf's sovereignty? Poncho says I have now lost and he's right for the wrong reasons. I lost long ago...say when mankind discovered fire and it was taken away and Prometheus stole it back and now we use it to burn our own homes down to stay warm. But I refuse to admit defeat and so the battle continues in a futile mockery of madness that delights and angers those who know me. I should at once "Remain true to my code" which is a joke and actually a crime in America today, but I should also be "Realistic" and cultivate skills that have value among men. These contradict each other obviously.
Reading the Climate Progress website or global warming editorials was enough to give me some idea of the cause and effect and synthetic devices we rely on but without first hand experience then I remained a monk in the high tower studying old manuscripts that were edited by blind scholars. My analogy would be to a Baptist in Las Vegas during the Silver rush of 1890. It's now called Sin City for a reason but there are also Baptist churches there. So who won? The silver merchants and deadwood saloon/brothel owners or the white collared minister? Labrador City is a company town devoted to Iron Ore mining. My wolf quest was the equivalent of a broken pencil tip in the glove box of one of the janitors who has sex with one of the mine employees. And it splintered my financial situation and utterly taxed all my resources and mental acuity, leading to a 18 month decline in health and weight and direction until I actually was evicted by the police from a parking lot in NH and could not find work and was destitute and deranged processing Nova Scotia lobsters all December in order to fund my escape.
I do not regret the quest that actually was designed in September 2009 but took every single penny I had in addition to pennies I have yet to earn and was completed in September 2011 and involved more suffering and self denial and hitchhiking and trips to Missouri and this and that. You need only read the posts from 11/09-11/11 to see what I'm talking about. I was evicted from Canada once, rolled backwards down an icy hill one night in Maine, Spent 3 months making a mosaic fleur de lis, then drove 3000 miles in a loop around the NE tip of North America and at one time actually drove over some of the oceanic crust that did not subduct under the continent 100 million years ago, but formed Gros Morne national park instead...The fruit of that trip was my residence at Battle Harbour Island and the people I met along the way. None of it was possible without Halliburton energy and the Arctic Wolf might not be imperiled without Haliburton. Who knows? But the contradiction is not lost on me and while the voyage itself was spawned in reflection and concern for the wolf's future, it was funded by resource exploitation and the scales have not yet balanced out. The moral algebra equation remains to be solved for X.
The $20 million church restoration in Austin entailed 10 hour days moving 100 pound masonite boards up 4 flights of broken stairs into an attic that was like a blast furnace. The IRS forms I processed in Missouri covered brothels in New Jersey and money laundering mobsters in New York and Investment bankers who crippled the entire economy with their pitiful currency trading schemes. I fixed leaking mobile homes and raked lawns for old age communities. I repaired a gold wing motorcycle and probably destroyed a shitty Pontiac Firebird.I know that the two realms of spirit and world are rarely united. Either a Trappist Monastery in Iowa is my destiny or an Electrical engineering firm in Texas. They can never be sublimated without complete mental breakdown. Purity is a young man's pursuit and I hoped that by pursuing it then I could remain young but the gray in my beard doesn't wash out and my eyes are sometimes blurry and my neck flaps sag in rank despair. My shrunken penis mocks my callused palm. Pursuit of Purity does not a young man make...and old men look like fools in Bermuda shorts.My problem in the past has been thinking that a short term commitment is long term contradiction and equivocation. But by turning down jobs like the chemical warfare testing gig in Santa Monica that paid $80K a year on moral principles actually led me to do something quite similar with guitar effects pedals for $30K a year with no future and not much skill involved. But I got to play guitar and write so I paid $50K a year to contemplate writing screenplays and learn some blues licks. That's a shitty investment and morally I don't think there was much difference...and practically speaking there was zero difference. The chemical warfare folks found someone else to do their job. A ripple in a large lake doesn't mean a frog is pissing somewhere.
For the past week I've almost been thinking like a normal person. Maybe my chemicals are aligned with Jupiter's retrograde flight through the heavens. Maybe the end of 2012 and the end of the Mayan era mean my stars are aligned and what is nonsense will be recognized as such. Maybe I'm like Bob Dylan who just when everyone wants and expects him to become a folk hero with his harmonica he buys an electric guitar and says, "Turn it up Real loud". You want Churros in Tijuana and I give you the peak of a natural gas well. Maybe the performance art piece that is my life has evolved into a new kind of skit. I wanted a change and this blog is about organic change for the sake of spontaneity. It's not about appeasing my predictable fans.
The Spirit world had dominated only my spiritual half while my body had basically just been leading a conventional life like a homeless drunk except not drunk. But spiritually I was in a four wheel monastery. SO I was in the world but resisting it and running from it without the resources to hide completely. I can say that's the worst condition and the list of my allies grew shorter and shorter by the day. I knew that I would either collapse or flee blindly with no fuel, carrying a guitar and a bible to Mexico and then Guatemala or else repair motorcycles in zen harmony. But the other mechanics smoked like chimneys and I was dying there...and had nothing. It really was the end for me. I had absolutely no options...no money...no direction...the van could not run...no allies....poisoned air everywhere...winter coming....ethics and idle platitudes intermingled and I could not sleep with the silver legged west nile carrying mosquitoes biting me all day on the neck and hands. Truly a ridiculous and pathetic end with grease and oil under my nails, naked pissing in the moonlight, 10 stray dogs baying at me and chasing my moped...a fucking coal trail waking me up at 5:30 am with my tinnitus growing worse every day with smoke in the air of my futility. My next door neighbor was a meat packing plant. The only other person I knew in Corpus was a multiple personality gypsy. On and on.
This is destiny...or God's guiding hand...opening a door when all were closed. I prayed and there was no other answer. Closer Walk With Thee so my spirit may find peace in this world and not a Disney fantasy I manufacture from works of pagan literature. None but Thee my burden shares...and probably not even thee.
7 Ekim 2012 Pazar
I'm Fine. How Are You?
To contact us Click HERE
Many mysteries were revealed in my first day at work. It's like all the practical projects I've been involved in for the last few years have culminated in making me custom fit for a job in hydro-fracturing and gas recovery. How did that work out? Because I'm an assembly fiend who also likes standardized installations. But philosophically I'm torn. I like difficult jobs where I can think about other things and in a few weeks this will be one of them.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
It is sort of like being an astronaut because if you break down the duties of an astronaut then it's basically.
Step 1) Hold on for dear life.
Step 2) check instruments
Step 3) move a toggle switch back and forth
Step 4) walk around on moon
Step 5) Aim For Earth
I mean, really, does that sound so hard?
And in a similar fashion I was inches from a Hydrogen Sulfide vent that could explode at any time spewing deadly gas but I'm wearing an air tight respirator so I could hear my own erratic breathing. Flying banshee demons could erupt and I would be safe. And did I mention that I was on a steel gangplank 50 ft in the air? On top of the oil well canisters? But my mission was basically a straight-forward assembly of 5 wires in small holes. But the sun was directly in my face and actually reflecting off the metal actuator body into my eyes and the plexiglass mask of the respirator was scratched like a cocktail Mrs. Pac Man video game top at Pizza Hut so it was like trying to read a small menu through a thick fog haze in a blinding sun...while being inches from death and in the middle of nowhere. There aren't many times in my life when I focus on my immediate task but that was one of them. I was in the moment like a zen fucking master. I guess if you are indifferent to life and circumstances then this job is "easy" but I like to say it is straight-forward. Like being an astronaut.
The "common sense" platitudes have been thrown around and I've already voiced my disdain for those.
Common sense would suggest we just leave the fucking hydrogen sulfide gas where it belongs 5 miles under the earth's crust. But no, we must have our energy so after 200 years of research and development now common sense means making sure no wires are crushed when you bolt closed the actuator body halves. Sure. That's common sense.
It's like saying, "When you are drunk and driving 120 mph in congested traffic on the sidewalk and trying to finger fuck your girlfriend you should obviously try to stimulate the most sensitive areas of her vagina. That is just common sense!" What the fuck? back up. you are drunk, and driving 120 mph...and it's heavy traffic on the sidewalk. and you are still trying to finger fuck your girlfriend? And you think that common sense applies to how you fuck her? Are you stupid?
That's how I feel but I'm pretty much the only one who thinks like that so I'll keep my mouth shut.
We're flying faster than our angels out here and no one cares. I rode my moped to town looking for tools (the van's transmission is in dire need of attention) and was immediately flat on my ass in a gravel ditch as a huge truck rolled past me at 90 mph carrying fuel. I only crashed my moped once before riding rocky motorcross trails after drinking white russians...and it was "common sense" that when you are drunk and riding a 1974 vespa ciao through a 1' deep lake that you should try to keep the throttle wide open so you don't bog down in the mud. Yeah. That's common sense. Common sense just suggests I don't ride the moped around the highways anymore.
But I'll tell you that my status as a mechanic was no less dangerous and provided no security or recompense.
I'll abide by the lexicon of the region but I won't adopt it.
6 Ekim 2012 Cumartesi
The Poet and The Spider
To contact us Click HERE
Some parts of the blog are made up and some I wish I made up and some parts I couldn't make up if I tried. I'm not sure which category this past week belongs to but it is worth noting that I am officially registered at this Man Town logistics field hotel and am actively employed by a billion dollar energy company. I feel like an imposter but I could have been lured by sweet fiscal aroma into a web of destruction...
In the gold rush and oil rush days of 1850 and 1890 the man who went west left his family behind and never spoke to them again. In the gas field boom of 2012 the same man can video record himself having sex with a casual street hooker and post that video to hundreds of amateur porn sites and possibly stream it live to Germany. And so it is with the man in the van's quest, he is still plugged in and has access to skype and cat videos. And part of me understands that this was made possible by the heart breaking loneliness of the first man in 1890. He needed to make that sacrifice so that I can make a similar but not quite as tragic sacrifice. I wonder what my sacrifice will allow someone to do in 2099.
So I'm not the only penitent oil field worker in the world with steel toe Will and Fire Resistant Dreams. Others have gone before and we stand on the shoulders of Giants. But sacrifices are nonetheless in my cards as no piano lounge exists at the hotel and there will be no time to play a tribute concert to Hal David, lyricist to all of Burt Bacharach's tunes. Hal passed away recently and his music has been a constant in my life since my best friends in Arcata bought me a box set of their music in 2001.
What is life but a song with mysterious lyrics? I'm loading up my thoughts because I suspect total chaos to break loose in a few hours. My advice to anyone moaning about work is that if you aren't in a boom town then you don't know what you are missing. And if you plan to come to a boom town in North Dakota or Kansas or Texas then you should get your pipe fitting class out of the way and be prepared to work 80 hours a week in remote locations. Or if you are really ambitious then you should study the supply chain and make a small addition to it that simplifies or streamlines the process. Supply is everything out here and it's no coincidence that everyone I work with is ex-military because they understand the same adverse conditions and supplying the troops with equipment at all costs. We're ever and anon preparing for the next deadly meteor and lives are lost and humanity's existence is at stake. Philosophically, what humanity stands for is not a question that is asked much, because if we lose the war against the night then there will be no humanity to appreciate our own demise.
It's a struggle between night and day that has no rationale. I've sided with the druids and gypsies who believe in the sanctity of the earth and it's real easy for a man who has banked half a million dollars to say he would prefer to live on a ranch and it's real easy for a hippie or gutter punk to use the clean library bathroom and then go protest the means by which is provided....because ignorance makes all things possible...and specialization of process and division of labor has made for an ignorant populace, but the complexity of society has demanded specialization of pf process so that only Hermann Hesse devotees like Oggy actually go out of their way to fill in the blanks in the Earth First paradigm compared to the Halliburton paradigm. I want to understand so I can no longer be ignorant but these two factions are at war with fantasies of each other and I would know that because I've done the rare trifecta of living in trees and working on oil rigs and maintaining a traditional house and life....I've striven for universality and geometry and taste and decency because they won't come naturally in a complicated and button down society. And while this has brought my weight down to 130 pounds and given me bulging hemorrhoids and an irregular reggae heartbeat and a twitch in my right eye, it has also accomplished my life goal of a vibrant worldview based on actual experience. My bad luck was being born in a time when the complexity of semiconductors and hydro fracturing and coffee made from beans digested by rodents has made it nearly impossible to track down all elements of society and impose myself upon them. But it is possible if only I ignore the chirping of the ignorant masses whose chorus of stupidity calls for shackles to be purchased at Walmart on sale and paid for with loan star jewelry sales. Why complicate my life? Philosophy is no consolation to the wicked but my overactive brain feeds not on food but on the delight of finding cable trays for the harness of the universal fiber optic array.
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| Oggy trying to express his individuality |
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| The leaf footed bugs never returned but I almost walked into this spider when I used that trash bag as a pillow. What kind of spider is it? |
So I'm not the only penitent oil field worker in the world with steel toe Will and Fire Resistant Dreams. Others have gone before and we stand on the shoulders of Giants. But sacrifices are nonetheless in my cards as no piano lounge exists at the hotel and there will be no time to play a tribute concert to Hal David, lyricist to all of Burt Bacharach's tunes. Hal passed away recently and his music has been a constant in my life since my best friends in Arcata bought me a box set of their music in 2001.
What is life but a song with mysterious lyrics? I'm loading up my thoughts because I suspect total chaos to break loose in a few hours. My advice to anyone moaning about work is that if you aren't in a boom town then you don't know what you are missing. And if you plan to come to a boom town in North Dakota or Kansas or Texas then you should get your pipe fitting class out of the way and be prepared to work 80 hours a week in remote locations. Or if you are really ambitious then you should study the supply chain and make a small addition to it that simplifies or streamlines the process. Supply is everything out here and it's no coincidence that everyone I work with is ex-military because they understand the same adverse conditions and supplying the troops with equipment at all costs. We're ever and anon preparing for the next deadly meteor and lives are lost and humanity's existence is at stake. Philosophically, what humanity stands for is not a question that is asked much, because if we lose the war against the night then there will be no humanity to appreciate our own demise.
It's a struggle between night and day that has no rationale. I've sided with the druids and gypsies who believe in the sanctity of the earth and it's real easy for a man who has banked half a million dollars to say he would prefer to live on a ranch and it's real easy for a hippie or gutter punk to use the clean library bathroom and then go protest the means by which is provided....because ignorance makes all things possible...and specialization of process and division of labor has made for an ignorant populace, but the complexity of society has demanded specialization of pf process so that only Hermann Hesse devotees like Oggy actually go out of their way to fill in the blanks in the Earth First paradigm compared to the Halliburton paradigm. I want to understand so I can no longer be ignorant but these two factions are at war with fantasies of each other and I would know that because I've done the rare trifecta of living in trees and working on oil rigs and maintaining a traditional house and life....I've striven for universality and geometry and taste and decency because they won't come naturally in a complicated and button down society. And while this has brought my weight down to 130 pounds and given me bulging hemorrhoids and an irregular reggae heartbeat and a twitch in my right eye, it has also accomplished my life goal of a vibrant worldview based on actual experience. My bad luck was being born in a time when the complexity of semiconductors and hydro fracturing and coffee made from beans digested by rodents has made it nearly impossible to track down all elements of society and impose myself upon them. But it is possible if only I ignore the chirping of the ignorant masses whose chorus of stupidity calls for shackles to be purchased at Walmart on sale and paid for with loan star jewelry sales. Why complicate my life? Philosophy is no consolation to the wicked but my overactive brain feeds not on food but on the delight of finding cable trays for the harness of the universal fiber optic array.
5 Ekim 2012 Cuma
Make or Break
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What have I gotten myself into? This is seriously rolling the dice and I don't know if I want to win or lose. I'm scared and stressed and in pain and it's hot and the world is mad place right now. I'd heard rumors of what was happening in Nebraska and North Dakota and Texas and now I've seen it with my own eyes and I'm scared and I haven't even gotten dirty yet. We don't even know what's going on in hidden corners. The chaos that the news reports on is a mere grain of sand in the desert of indifference the universe has for humanity. I am incomparably small and insignificant and the turmoil I'm involved in now goes literally to the depths of the earth and smells like burning rubber and diesel fuel and looks like Mad Max.
We're going to end up in an apocalypse. There's no avoiding it because I've seen the source and it is growing and furthermore we will get used to it and the word apocalypse will not be used to describe it. They might call it paradise...with women genetically modified to look like sex kittens and men riding hovering neon harley davidson bikes in a sun baked land with deadly gamma rays bombarding the earth. That's our future. Not Star Trek-- but Blade Runner. And it won't matter because the buffalo will be gone still and the great auk and the names will change and the paradigm will never shift. It's a giant circle and I'm in a small circle within the circle that spins me slightly downward and then back up but the entire time I'm in orbit going down.
We're going to end up in an apocalypse. There's no avoiding it because I've seen the source and it is growing and furthermore we will get used to it and the word apocalypse will not be used to describe it. They might call it paradise...with women genetically modified to look like sex kittens and men riding hovering neon harley davidson bikes in a sun baked land with deadly gamma rays bombarding the earth. That's our future. Not Star Trek-- but Blade Runner. And it won't matter because the buffalo will be gone still and the great auk and the names will change and the paradigm will never shift. It's a giant circle and I'm in a small circle within the circle that spins me slightly downward and then back up but the entire time I'm in orbit going down.
Hard Headed
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Destiny or manifest destiny or pre-destiny leads us all to exactly where we have to be and our chemical reactions and electrical malfunctions in the ether regions of our brains dictate our behavior once we get there. This might be a Matrix nightmare or a memory implant because the glitches in our sidestepping paradigms take root in flawed biophysics. I think of choice as a computer program written years ago. No matter what my decision is it was already predestined and so is my fate. So I stand at the precipice of design and hear the howling demons below the lip of the mine, their hacking coughs and H2S meters ringing in my bell chime ears, their haunting laughter a mockery of my own self image and loathsome, woeful countenance. Do I step forward or retreat and into whose arms can I fall if the trust exercises have all failed in allowing my Ninja outfit to land roughly on barbecue pit ashes in the ropes course behind PHS, before it was razed for a new field and the frogs fled futilely through plastic delusions.
Destiny or manifest destiny or pre-destiny leads us all to exactly where we have to be and our chemical reactions and electrical malfunctions in the ether regions of our brains dictate our behavior once we get there. This might be a Matrix nightmare or a memory implant because the glitches in our sidestepping paradigms take root in flawed biophysics. I think of choice as a computer program written years ago. No matter what my decision is it was already predestined and so is my fate. So I stand at the precipice of design and hear the howling demons below the lip of the mine, their hacking coughs and H2S meters ringing in my bell chime ears, their haunting laughter a mockery of my own self image and loathsome, woeful countenance. Do I step forward or retreat and into whose arms can I fall if the trust exercises have all failed in allowing my Ninja outfit to land roughly on barbecue pit ashes in the ropes course behind PHS, before it was razed for a new field and the frogs fled futilely through plastic delusions.
Lap of Luxury
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This past week might go down in history as "Greatest Turn of Fortunes Ever" because I started it out ankle deep in Pontiac Firebird misery and depression and financial woes and I ended it with a total spend thrift attitude maxing out credit cards and taking loans out on your children's future earth all on a roll of the dice that something would work out and I could keep the van running and my arthritis under control and my self loathing below OSHA specs...and now I'm in a leather seat with free drinks and snack mix in luxury per diem expense account insanity in a billion dollar industry and three free meals and an air conditioned private room on a battleship watching 3D cartoon reenactments of my own life in peyote butterfly visions. I literally made $0 at that fucked up garage and I sweated on that Pontiac and that Chevy and BMW and a Narc Car and a honda gold wing for 3 weeks, doing probably $4000 worth of work. How fucked up is that? But the reversal has been dramatic as I'm buying $250 fire resistant pants and dreaming of exactly what custom wood working scrolling I want on the neck of my $3000 guitar. Exactly who do I want to dedicate this instrument to? I really can think of only one person. But that's all star gazing of a kid who wants to fly to the moon on his stuffed Pegasus.
Is it luck or perseverance? I think a combination of both, priorities and determination and stubbornness and luck. I study Hydrogen sulfide and cable tray arrangements and fiber optic safety straps to my ego. I'm excited and feel giddy and sick. Will it pan out for the future? I don't know but I have tasted the boom era and the wild west of the gold mining is now in the present with deep drilling and hydro fracturing...it is all a cycle of repetitions and while I look around at the "No $100 bills" sign at a Subway and the help wanted signs everywhere as employees are picked to drive trucks for $900 a day and overnight fortunes are won and lost and families raised and dreams are reborn in the dying and dead desert, I am reflective and excited but also sad that what seems new was once old and will seem old very soon and the fatigue of the past deprivation and penitent lifestyle I have led may catch up to me soon. It's the kind of job you ignore back pain for and the Mexican hookers drift in the shadows and while I may end up a piano player at a brothel I can hear the blood rushing in my head and it sounds like angel harp strings.
Is it luck or perseverance? I think a combination of both, priorities and determination and stubbornness and luck. I study Hydrogen sulfide and cable tray arrangements and fiber optic safety straps to my ego. I'm excited and feel giddy and sick. Will it pan out for the future? I don't know but I have tasted the boom era and the wild west of the gold mining is now in the present with deep drilling and hydro fracturing...it is all a cycle of repetitions and while I look around at the "No $100 bills" sign at a Subway and the help wanted signs everywhere as employees are picked to drive trucks for $900 a day and overnight fortunes are won and lost and families raised and dreams are reborn in the dying and dead desert, I am reflective and excited but also sad that what seems new was once old and will seem old very soon and the fatigue of the past deprivation and penitent lifestyle I have led may catch up to me soon. It's the kind of job you ignore back pain for and the Mexican hookers drift in the shadows and while I may end up a piano player at a brothel I can hear the blood rushing in my head and it sounds like angel harp strings.
4 Ekim 2012 Perşembe
Man Plans to Write Second Novel
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A local man who plans to write a novel announced today his plans to write second novel after he writes the first one.
"It's the best follow-up novel on the century," said Duncan Reece of Detroit. "I don't want to go into details because that's not my process, but it's a slam dunk."
The man said that his plans to write his first novel have been going so well that he's already planning to write his second novel.
"No, I'm not done with the first one, but I've basically got the outline finished in my head. So it's as good as done. I figured since I'm so close I might as well start planning my sophomore novel. And boy do I have a winner."
Mr. Reece is a full time employee of an accounts processing firm. His coworkers said that this was the first they had heard of his ambitions to be a writer.
One coworker looked confused when he learned the news, "A writer? Duncan? I don't see that happening. He hasn't sent me an email with a single complete sentence since I've known him. He types with two fingers."
Duncan's mother announced that he would "Be good at anything he sets his mind to."
Duncan defended his dream, "Sure I'm not a published author but neither was Hemingway before he got published. I don't care what people think because I'm going to finish my first novel and then knock out my second. Really, I see a trilogy with big film potential.
At press time Duncan was "not in a creative mood" so he was watching Family Guy and laughing with popcorn flying out of his mouth.
"It's the best follow-up novel on the century," said Duncan Reece of Detroit. "I don't want to go into details because that's not my process, but it's a slam dunk."
The man said that his plans to write his first novel have been going so well that he's already planning to write his second novel.
"No, I'm not done with the first one, but I've basically got the outline finished in my head. So it's as good as done. I figured since I'm so close I might as well start planning my sophomore novel. And boy do I have a winner."
Mr. Reece is a full time employee of an accounts processing firm. His coworkers said that this was the first they had heard of his ambitions to be a writer.
One coworker looked confused when he learned the news, "A writer? Duncan? I don't see that happening. He hasn't sent me an email with a single complete sentence since I've known him. He types with two fingers."
Duncan's mother announced that he would "Be good at anything he sets his mind to."
Duncan defended his dream, "Sure I'm not a published author but neither was Hemingway before he got published. I don't care what people think because I'm going to finish my first novel and then knock out my second. Really, I see a trilogy with big film potential.
At press time Duncan was "not in a creative mood" so he was watching Family Guy and laughing with popcorn flying out of his mouth.
3 Ekim 2012 Çarşamba
H2S
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"Hydrogen sulfide has been implicated in several mass extinctions that have occurred in the Earth's past. In particular, a buildup of hydrogen sulfide in the atmosphere may have caused the Permian-Triassic extinction event 252 million years ago.[48]"
I just became closer acquainted with H2S than I thought I would ever have to but times have changed and this dog has been kicked around this summer like a basketball at Little Harbour Field when the 1st grade kids decided to stop playing with their hands.
The summer has been hellish but only in the fall have I been forced to outfit myself with flame resistant clothing and H2S certification. That means I'll basically be working in the mines, something I always wanted to do since watching "How Green Is My Valley" by John Ford about coal miners and death and love and redemption in the English Spring. I'm not special and while everyone believes they support my pathetic lifestyle with welfare they are ignorant fools because not only have I never collected welfare but they are the ones I support with my energy field related services.
Do I begrudge their ignorance? Yes.
I'm not like John Galt who doesn't think about those who criticize him. I resent them because they are first idiots, second they are wrong, and third they are actually the moochers on my own labor in H2S rich confined spaces that are closely related to natural gas fields, hydro-fracturing and oil and extinction. The land will eventually return to a dusty plain where only viruses and cockroaches run free. Humanity's era will be erased like the Great Auk of mammals. And so, the only debate is how deluded can we keep our brains in respect to the illusion of life and importance.
What is important to me? A fine made J. Carruthers guitar, living long enough to play Lionel Richie songs for Jason Mackenzie at The Clipper Home for his 100th birthday, the seasons, Beethoven,walks in the woods, Hermann Hesse.
I don't need money except for that guitar so I'm going to take my H2S certification and put on my flame resistant overalls that will protect me from deadly electrical arcing, and wear my self enclosed respirator INTO THE PITS OF HELL because that is what is necessary for mankind to feed itself and produce more Family Guy cartoons and transplant chicken lungs into panda cubs and love and live and make guitars. I'll do that and if I don't come out then one of YOU will have to find Jason Mac when he turns 100 and play him some Lionel Richie because he deserves it.
I just became closer acquainted with H2S than I thought I would ever have to but times have changed and this dog has been kicked around this summer like a basketball at Little Harbour Field when the 1st grade kids decided to stop playing with their hands.
The summer has been hellish but only in the fall have I been forced to outfit myself with flame resistant clothing and H2S certification. That means I'll basically be working in the mines, something I always wanted to do since watching "How Green Is My Valley" by John Ford about coal miners and death and love and redemption in the English Spring. I'm not special and while everyone believes they support my pathetic lifestyle with welfare they are ignorant fools because not only have I never collected welfare but they are the ones I support with my energy field related services.
Do I begrudge their ignorance? Yes.
I'm not like John Galt who doesn't think about those who criticize him. I resent them because they are first idiots, second they are wrong, and third they are actually the moochers on my own labor in H2S rich confined spaces that are closely related to natural gas fields, hydro-fracturing and oil and extinction. The land will eventually return to a dusty plain where only viruses and cockroaches run free. Humanity's era will be erased like the Great Auk of mammals. And so, the only debate is how deluded can we keep our brains in respect to the illusion of life and importance. What is important to me? A fine made J. Carruthers guitar, living long enough to play Lionel Richie songs for Jason Mackenzie at The Clipper Home for his 100th birthday, the seasons, Beethoven,walks in the woods, Hermann Hesse.
I don't need money except for that guitar so I'm going to take my H2S certification and put on my flame resistant overalls that will protect me from deadly electrical arcing, and wear my self enclosed respirator INTO THE PITS OF HELL because that is what is necessary for mankind to feed itself and produce more Family Guy cartoons and transplant chicken lungs into panda cubs and love and live and make guitars. I'll do that and if I don't come out then one of YOU will have to find Jason Mac when he turns 100 and play him some Lionel Richie because he deserves it.
Easy Money
To contact us Click HERE
I was all ready to take the stator out of the goldwing when the boss told me he needed help recovering a truck 6 miles down the beach. I'll speculate and say that some punks saw this truck, stole it intending to strip it, went so far as to put another stolen license plate (over the original plate) and then got cold feet because they bragged about it to the wrong people...so they took it to the beach and set fire to this 2010 Ford FX2...and maybe moments before they lit the flames the took the hood and the radiator, or maybe someone discovered it after the fire burned down and took it but probably the parts were taken before the fire was set.
And I'm not sure when it was overturned. They tried to take the catalytic converter to sell but forgot a tool set and couldn't get the tie rod off to pull the muffler out. It was a real messy show.
Blah blah blah, Oggy to the rescue in his underoos. We turn it back over and because the sand is too soft for the wrecker the boss drags this shell 6 miles through sea turtle habitat to the asphalt. At one point I was riding in the back of another pickup truck as beer cans were tossed out the window into the polluted Gulf...and the driver yelled back, "Tell me if you see anything wrong." and he meant like a small child caught under the truck...but I was thinking, "You mean like we're towing a burned out shell of a stolen truck that has no front tires in the middle of the night over land that was once Karakawan Indian and then Spanish and then Mexican and then Texan and then Confederate and then American? Is that wrong enough?"
But I kept my mouth shut because my memory was flooded with thoughts of my own long ago journey on a Galveston Beach when my car was sunk in the water and I ran beneath Scorpion and Orion and Cassiopia and I was young and innocent.
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| Depravity |
And I'm not sure when it was overturned. They tried to take the catalytic converter to sell but forgot a tool set and couldn't get the tie rod off to pull the muffler out. It was a real messy show.
| what this vehicle looked like yesterday |
But I kept my mouth shut because my memory was flooded with thoughts of my own long ago journey on a Galveston Beach when my car was sunk in the water and I ran beneath Scorpion and Orion and Cassiopia and I was young and innocent.
2 Ekim 2012 Salı
Oggy's Unhealthy Infatuation With The Past Still Haunts Him
To contact us Click HERE
Given Popcorn wrappers on unsettled nights
taken paved roads when dirt roads called
looked back on the dirt roads and wondered if
the choice was a predilection or an instinct
safer choice or possible the salvation of man?
Though the safer choice led to heartbreak and
misled destruction, humiliation and lonely roads
through political turmoil, a depressed land
people living on the garbage of divorce lawyers
the belly of the gluttonous and unsophisticated masses
expands with pompous flatulence.
Oggy is a child raising himself to be the man
who could raise a child.
But this is backwards and the accessory of a child
would not make him a man or even a belabored child.
It would merely make him en vogue with the trends
of modern superfluity. But his mistakes could be shared.
with his blighted offspring.
With no future in the growing bones of an innocent child,
Oggy clings to the past, mistakes and philosophical slights
childish upheavals, hurtful remarks take personally
sunglasses betrayed in spiteful misery.
Oggy repents.
Oggy rants.
Oggy sings.
Oggy prays.
Oggy sleeps.
Oggy ponders.
Oggy eats.
Oggy loves.
Oggy hates.
Oggy gives a Damn.
taken paved roads when dirt roads called
looked back on the dirt roads and wondered if
the choice was a predilection or an instinct
safer choice or possible the salvation of man?
Though the safer choice led to heartbreak and
misled destruction, humiliation and lonely roads
through political turmoil, a depressed land
people living on the garbage of divorce lawyers
the belly of the gluttonous and unsophisticated masses
expands with pompous flatulence.
Oggy is a child raising himself to be the man
who could raise a child.
But this is backwards and the accessory of a child
would not make him a man or even a belabored child.
It would merely make him en vogue with the trends
of modern superfluity. But his mistakes could be shared.
with his blighted offspring.
With no future in the growing bones of an innocent child,
Oggy clings to the past, mistakes and philosophical slights
childish upheavals, hurtful remarks take personally
sunglasses betrayed in spiteful misery.
Oggy repents.
Oggy rants.
Oggy sings.
Oggy prays.
Oggy sleeps.
Oggy ponders.
Oggy eats.
Oggy loves.
Oggy hates.
Oggy gives a Damn.
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| Oggy's Wounded Inner Torque Converter |
Firebird Update
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I checked the oil in the Firebird and it looks like coffee and cream from Dunkin' Donuts. I never liked the way it was running and have the worst hopes for this vehicle now as this is the second engine and the second set of heads that appear to be leaking. The heads are tight, the gaskets are new, the heads are new but the engine block was original. It's not looking good. Cursed from the start.
Fortunately, I'm on the trail of a job that will let me leave all of this madness behind. It's either going to come together this week or slip through my fingers. I can't mention details because I accidentally used my oggybleacher gmail address to send my resume to the boss.
He called up, "May I speak to Oggy Bleacher?" and my eyes bulged open.
OH FUCK.
If he googles "Oggy Bleacher" then I'm sunk for lack of explaining my insanity.
Of course I also showed up to the interview with a full beard, a backward baseball cap and I was riding my moped. My strategy is to act like I already have the job.
Fortunately, I'm on the trail of a job that will let me leave all of this madness behind. It's either going to come together this week or slip through my fingers. I can't mention details because I accidentally used my oggybleacher gmail address to send my resume to the boss.
He called up, "May I speak to Oggy Bleacher?" and my eyes bulged open.
OH FUCK.
If he googles "Oggy Bleacher" then I'm sunk for lack of explaining my insanity.
Of course I also showed up to the interview with a full beard, a backward baseball cap and I was riding my moped. My strategy is to act like I already have the job.
Flightless Bird
To contact us Click HERE
There seems to a theme lately with pulling an entire engine on a 1999 Pontiac Firebird and then dropping an engine on a 1985 Goldwing. And then there is the chicken figurine that wants to fly to the moon. The theme is birds and migration and I think Oggy is about to become another migratory bird.The trick was taking apart the front part of the left side exhaust pipe. I was really puzzled by how the engine would drop down on top of the exhaust headers and I don't have a manual and the online How-To was for a different model. But then I forced my brain to focus and there were two bolts holding the exhaust in two pieces. Remove the bolts and bang the front half off and then the engine can drop down unimpeded. The exhaust itself is some complicated piece of work as it connects under the frame and all the bolts are rusted. I was almost going to get an engine hoist and pick the whole bike up and remove the entire exhaust from under it. It was a real puzzle for a minute.
Back to the bird theme: they asked me if I had any family, or lived in a house, or had any money. They were basically saying, we want you as a field service tech in the middle of nowhere because only a hobo would take this job.
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| I should stick to two wheels |
Back to the bird theme: they asked me if I had any family, or lived in a house, or had any money. They were basically saying, we want you as a field service tech in the middle of nowhere because only a hobo would take this job.
Depraved
To contact us Click HERE
In honor of tonight's 200th episode of Family Guy, I'm going to punch myself in the face 200 times because that is the only thing that will replace the pain and agony knowing that my culture not only invented and cultivated this awful shitfuck of a show but then carried it on and on past any known dimension of acceptability for 200 episodes. It's a total red flag for sociologists and while it has absolutely nothing to do with terrorism or mass murders or spree killings, the fact Family Guy exists and is honored and watched is evidence that the decay of modern society is total and complete and irredeemable. Here are some spoof cartoons that are slightly more funny than the show.
I promise total anarchy if "2 1/2 Men" ever reaches 200 episodes. It's the one other show that I loathe more than Family Guy.
1 Ekim 2012 Pazartesi
Oggy's Unhealthy Infatuation With The Past Still Haunts Him
To contact us Click HERE
Given Popcorn wrappers on unsettled nights
taken paved roads when dirt roads called
looked back on the dirt roads and wondered if
the choice was a predilection or an instinct
safer choice or possible the salvation of man?
Though the safer choice led to heartbreak and
misled destruction, humiliation and lonely roads
through political turmoil, a depressed land
people living on the garbage of divorce lawyers
the belly of the gluttonous and unsophisticated masses
expands with pompous flatulence.
Oggy is a child raising himself to be the man
who could raise a child.
But this is backwards and the accessory of a child
would not make him a man or even a belabored child.
It would merely make him en vogue with the trends
of modern superfluity. But his mistakes could be shared.
with his blighted offspring.
With no future in the growing bones of an innocent child,
Oggy clings to the past, mistakes and philosophical slights
childish upheavals, hurtful remarks take personally
sunglasses betrayed in spiteful misery.
Oggy repents.
Oggy rants.
Oggy sings.
Oggy prays.
Oggy sleeps.
Oggy ponders.
Oggy eats.
Oggy loves.
Oggy hates.
Oggy gives a Damn.
taken paved roads when dirt roads called
looked back on the dirt roads and wondered if
the choice was a predilection or an instinct
safer choice or possible the salvation of man?
Though the safer choice led to heartbreak and
misled destruction, humiliation and lonely roads
through political turmoil, a depressed land
people living on the garbage of divorce lawyers
the belly of the gluttonous and unsophisticated masses
expands with pompous flatulence.
Oggy is a child raising himself to be the man
who could raise a child.
But this is backwards and the accessory of a child
would not make him a man or even a belabored child.
It would merely make him en vogue with the trends
of modern superfluity. But his mistakes could be shared.
with his blighted offspring.
With no future in the growing bones of an innocent child,
Oggy clings to the past, mistakes and philosophical slights
childish upheavals, hurtful remarks take personally
sunglasses betrayed in spiteful misery.
Oggy repents.
Oggy rants.
Oggy sings.
Oggy prays.
Oggy sleeps.
Oggy ponders.
Oggy eats.
Oggy loves.
Oggy hates.
Oggy gives a Damn.
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| Oggy's Wounded Inner Torque Converter |
No Relief
To contact us Click HERE
I really don't know what more I can do to get a comment from the three Russian spambots who regularly visit my blog.
The main benefit of working on the Goldwing is that I'm alone with the ringing in my ears and no one smokes cigarettes.
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| This is way better than living in the van |
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| 1985 Goldwing stator replacement is my current project |
The main benefit of working on the Goldwing is that I'm alone with the ringing in my ears and no one smokes cigarettes.
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| Did I upload this already? It's my ghetto fix of my moped headlight |
Spiteful Post
To contact us Click HERE
I'm going to really give you casual surf monkeys something to ignore now because I'm going to describe the whole saga of this oil pressure sensor for a 1999 Pontiac Firebird.
First I want to tell you that the threaded end of this sensor is screwed directly into the engine block down by the oil pump. See? And the suction from the oil pump will direct oil into the hole and into this sensor where it spins microscopic wings around and magic fairies whisper secrets in troll ears and on the other end are two copper contacts on a suspended spring wire system. The plug going to the electronic control module is connected to the two prongs via an indexed connector that was green in 1999 and brown in 1998 (I know this from the crashed vehicle I found at the scrap yard)
Oil pressure is usually between 60 at idle and 90 high rev. and there's a gauge on the dashboard that reads these magic numbers. If the pressure shoots up then either the gauge broke or something is prohibiting flow of oil beyond the sensor so pressure builds up. If oil pressure plummets then Oggy might've left a gasket without a hole in the middle of the pick up tube or a cracked connecting rod crashed through the oil pan and all that precious BP oil sucked from the gulf of mexico just flooded the puddles where the stray dogs drink. Either way, <snobby-know-it-all-tone>ya might want to check things out before driving on.</snobby-know-it-all-tone>
So, Oggy was out there busting his knuckles in his attempt to fix this piece of shit Firebird and he goes to reinstall the serpentine belt after a complete dis-assembly of the injector rails to reach the intake manifold bolts (they were all tight). And the wire to the oil pressure sensor was in the way so Oggy reaches down to remove the sensor and the wires break off in his hand without any pressure or resistance at all. What THE FUCK??
He pulls the connector off and of course it's the ridiculously rare indexed slot hermaphroditic (male/female) pins he recognized from his semiconductor days.
OH SHIT. The wires broke off and the pins can not be reused. What followed was a painful comedy of efforts and sweating and inventing swear words to make it all work again...mind you all because I double checked my torque. FUCK. Hours of effort to salvage the pins is futile. The original crimp didn't grab any of the insulation...those fucking Korean assembly line motherfuckers really screwed me by crossing the GM picketline OH GOD WHY ARE UNIONS BUSTED DAILY! These pins can not be found just anywhere and I'm the only person in the garage who even understands that to find the pins wouldn't mean shit because you have to find the right pin crimper also and I curse my lot in life and moan and throw things because I've brought this on myself with my nonconformist ways. Why didn't I just stay in Arcata and be a bad Kindergarten teacher? Why not go to grad school and study obscure Bach fugues? I had to be a maverick and try to get my book published and that has led me to the point where I have to deal with two extremely specific pins being fucked. How am I going to fix this?
Flash forward to when I managed to solder the wires onto the pins and force them back into the connector and cover it all in heat shrink, a method that will cause me to lose sleep and still I hear a hissing above and beyond the ringing in my Tinnitus ears that is going to make me go crazy. So the boss comes over with his stethoscope and listens and points to the EGR hose.
"That's your vacuum leak right there."
And he was right. I had pulled that metal hose out and it broke the fitting. Well, shit. I can't JB weld that so I go to the junk yard and dig deep into a crashed vehicle to get the hose and then I see...the hole where the oil pressure sensor once was (someone took it already) but they left the connector! I realize I can just steal the connector and splice it onto the wires back at the '99 Firebird and the pins will work.
((Oh, I didn't mention that because the pins were fucked up and I had to perform microscopic surgery with my legs going backward over my arse because the Firebird is three inches off the ground, because of that and because these pins need a very special PIN EXTRACTOR that I didn't have so I had to force them out and that destroyed the integrity of the pin mate/lock so when I finally lined up the two contacts in the sensor with the pins and pushed, ONE OF THE CONTACTS BENT BACK AND BROKE OFF THE SENSOR. OH WHAT THE FUCK!!!! The oil pressure went to 120 but it was really a broken sensor.
So I had a fucked up pin/connector AND a broken pressure sensor. Well, I managed to delicately fix the sensor back together (knowing that it would break in perhaps a week) and I managed to plug the connector in and get it to read a reasonable 70 on the gauge.))
But then I found the connector in the scrap yard and because I didn't bring my tools (taking my moped to the scrap yard like a foolish hippy riding on the broken sidewalk of his crooked morality) so I had to chew through the oily wire insulation. But I still needed the sensor and I hunted everywhere and actually swore so loud two Mexan mechanics looked fearfully in my direction when I found another crashed Firebird BUT SOMEONE HAD ALREADY TAKEN THE SENSOR.
I think I yelled, "OH You fucking CUNT!" so that lizards scurried in fear and revulsion.
But I chewed through the other connector because I didn't want to come back and it was better to take two and not need one than need the other...seeing as how Mr. Murphy's Law was playing all kinds of fun party games with my fucked up life that day.
So, I had my EGR hose and I had 2 oil pressure SENSOR connectors with good pins. (I really can't emphasize how specialized these pins are. NOTHING WOULD WORK AS A SUBSTITUTE. You would have to have those pins and the correct crimper or you shouldn't even bother.) Not only that, you would need a week of special training to even get a good crimp at all. But I had found a solution which is to find the exact connector (like a needle in a haystack) and splice it onto the wire.
So, I did as I planned, the EGR hose fixed the vacuum leak, the wires spliced onto the old wires and the new connector fit the old sensor.....BUT....remember that I had broken the oil pressure sensor? There was nothing I could do about that except buy another sensor. But recall, dear reader, that I have no money and am leaving for Mexico soon so any investment in this shitty Firebird would be pointless. But I'm also obsessive and feel it is my ethical responsibility to fix this fucking car but I can't afford the Sensor and my garage is a pathetic joke where nothing is purchased and everything is postponed....so I was going to pray that the pressure sensor would last....
Then I go to work on the Goldwing motorcycle and what do I find? A cart with a pristine EGR hose for that specific car (it has been here since November 2011 and has had three engines in it and 4 Heads and apparently 2 EGR units. I could've just taken this EGR hose...FUCK WASTED MONEY...
...but the best thing of all happens when I strip a bolt head off the water pump cover of the Goldwing. This bolt head, a small 8mm head stripped like butter in the rusty recesses of my brain and I'm not worried because the mosquitoes are going to kill me before this motorcycle ever rides again, but I'm curious how I'm going to take the bolt off. So I hunt through a tool box full of taps and dies and easy-out tools and backward drill bits and....WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS???? IS IT>>>>>>COULD IT BE>>>>>> YES. In the bottom of a drawer filled with junk and bulbs and ridiculous artifacts of mechanic methods while I'm looking for a tool to take out that stripped water pump cover bolt...I find...AN OIL PRESSURE SENSOR FOR A 1999 Pontiac FIREBIRD.
It was totally unexpected but I feel it was destiny.
Then I decided to take the entire water pump off the motorcycle so I could take the cover to a vise and get physical with it and get the bolt off. How I will find a replacement for that bolt will be the subject of a future post.
So now I have the correct connector and a sensor I hope will work and a spare EGR hose and the bolt is off and the ringing in my ears only bothers me when I'm awake. So life is good and I don't even care that 0 people read this.
 |
| GM Oil Pressure Sensor |
First I want to tell you that the threaded end of this sensor is screwed directly into the engine block down by the oil pump. See? And the suction from the oil pump will direct oil into the hole and into this sensor where it spins microscopic wings around and magic fairies whisper secrets in troll ears and on the other end are two copper contacts on a suspended spring wire system. The plug going to the electronic control module is connected to the two prongs via an indexed connector that was green in 1999 and brown in 1998 (I know this from the crashed vehicle I found at the scrap yard)
Oil pressure is usually between 60 at idle and 90 high rev. and there's a gauge on the dashboard that reads these magic numbers. If the pressure shoots up then either the gauge broke or something is prohibiting flow of oil beyond the sensor so pressure builds up. If oil pressure plummets then Oggy might've left a gasket without a hole in the middle of the pick up tube or a cracked connecting rod crashed through the oil pan and all that precious BP oil sucked from the gulf of mexico just flooded the puddles where the stray dogs drink. Either way, <snobby-know-it-all-tone>ya might want to check things out before driving on.</snobby-know-it-all-tone>
So, Oggy was out there busting his knuckles in his attempt to fix this piece of shit Firebird and he goes to reinstall the serpentine belt after a complete dis-assembly of the injector rails to reach the intake manifold bolts (they were all tight). And the wire to the oil pressure sensor was in the way so Oggy reaches down to remove the sensor and the wires break off in his hand without any pressure or resistance at all. What THE FUCK??
He pulls the connector off and of course it's the ridiculously rare indexed slot hermaphroditic (male/female) pins he recognized from his semiconductor days.
OH SHIT. The wires broke off and the pins can not be reused. What followed was a painful comedy of efforts and sweating and inventing swear words to make it all work again...mind you all because I double checked my torque. FUCK. Hours of effort to salvage the pins is futile. The original crimp didn't grab any of the insulation...those fucking Korean assembly line motherfuckers really screwed me by crossing the GM picketline OH GOD WHY ARE UNIONS BUSTED DAILY! These pins can not be found just anywhere and I'm the only person in the garage who even understands that to find the pins wouldn't mean shit because you have to find the right pin crimper also and I curse my lot in life and moan and throw things because I've brought this on myself with my nonconformist ways. Why didn't I just stay in Arcata and be a bad Kindergarten teacher? Why not go to grad school and study obscure Bach fugues? I had to be a maverick and try to get my book published and that has led me to the point where I have to deal with two extremely specific pins being fucked. How am I going to fix this?
Flash forward to when I managed to solder the wires onto the pins and force them back into the connector and cover it all in heat shrink, a method that will cause me to lose sleep and still I hear a hissing above and beyond the ringing in my Tinnitus ears that is going to make me go crazy. So the boss comes over with his stethoscope and listens and points to the EGR hose.
"That's your vacuum leak right there."
And he was right. I had pulled that metal hose out and it broke the fitting. Well, shit. I can't JB weld that so I go to the junk yard and dig deep into a crashed vehicle to get the hose and then I see...the hole where the oil pressure sensor once was (someone took it already) but they left the connector! I realize I can just steal the connector and splice it onto the wires back at the '99 Firebird and the pins will work.
((Oh, I didn't mention that because the pins were fucked up and I had to perform microscopic surgery with my legs going backward over my arse because the Firebird is three inches off the ground, because of that and because these pins need a very special PIN EXTRACTOR that I didn't have so I had to force them out and that destroyed the integrity of the pin mate/lock so when I finally lined up the two contacts in the sensor with the pins and pushed, ONE OF THE CONTACTS BENT BACK AND BROKE OFF THE SENSOR. OH WHAT THE FUCK!!!! The oil pressure went to 120 but it was really a broken sensor.
So I had a fucked up pin/connector AND a broken pressure sensor. Well, I managed to delicately fix the sensor back together (knowing that it would break in perhaps a week) and I managed to plug the connector in and get it to read a reasonable 70 on the gauge.))
But then I found the connector in the scrap yard and because I didn't bring my tools (taking my moped to the scrap yard like a foolish hippy riding on the broken sidewalk of his crooked morality) so I had to chew through the oily wire insulation. But I still needed the sensor and I hunted everywhere and actually swore so loud two Mexan mechanics looked fearfully in my direction when I found another crashed Firebird BUT SOMEONE HAD ALREADY TAKEN THE SENSOR.
I think I yelled, "OH You fucking CUNT!" so that lizards scurried in fear and revulsion.
But I chewed through the other connector because I didn't want to come back and it was better to take two and not need one than need the other...seeing as how Mr. Murphy's Law was playing all kinds of fun party games with my fucked up life that day.
So, I had my EGR hose and I had 2 oil pressure SENSOR connectors with good pins. (I really can't emphasize how specialized these pins are. NOTHING WOULD WORK AS A SUBSTITUTE. You would have to have those pins and the correct crimper or you shouldn't even bother.) Not only that, you would need a week of special training to even get a good crimp at all. But I had found a solution which is to find the exact connector (like a needle in a haystack) and splice it onto the wire.
So, I did as I planned, the EGR hose fixed the vacuum leak, the wires spliced onto the old wires and the new connector fit the old sensor.....BUT....remember that I had broken the oil pressure sensor? There was nothing I could do about that except buy another sensor. But recall, dear reader, that I have no money and am leaving for Mexico soon so any investment in this shitty Firebird would be pointless. But I'm also obsessive and feel it is my ethical responsibility to fix this fucking car but I can't afford the Sensor and my garage is a pathetic joke where nothing is purchased and everything is postponed....so I was going to pray that the pressure sensor would last....
Then I go to work on the Goldwing motorcycle and what do I find? A cart with a pristine EGR hose for that specific car (it has been here since November 2011 and has had three engines in it and 4 Heads and apparently 2 EGR units. I could've just taken this EGR hose...FUCK WASTED MONEY...
...but the best thing of all happens when I strip a bolt head off the water pump cover of the Goldwing. This bolt head, a small 8mm head stripped like butter in the rusty recesses of my brain and I'm not worried because the mosquitoes are going to kill me before this motorcycle ever rides again, but I'm curious how I'm going to take the bolt off. So I hunt through a tool box full of taps and dies and easy-out tools and backward drill bits and....WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS???? IS IT>>>>>>COULD IT BE>>>>>> YES. In the bottom of a drawer filled with junk and bulbs and ridiculous artifacts of mechanic methods while I'm looking for a tool to take out that stripped water pump cover bolt...I find...AN OIL PRESSURE SENSOR FOR A 1999 Pontiac FIREBIRD.
It was totally unexpected but I feel it was destiny.
Then I decided to take the entire water pump off the motorcycle so I could take the cover to a vise and get physical with it and get the bolt off. How I will find a replacement for that bolt will be the subject of a future post.
So now I have the correct connector and a sensor I hope will work and a spare EGR hose and the bolt is off and the ringing in my ears only bothers me when I'm awake. So life is good and I don't even care that 0 people read this.
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