Slipping into the dark Abyss

I find myself slipping again. Falling even, back into that dark place I just got away from. Last year my mother died, and I found out I was getting laid off during the same week. I was not prepared for either, but such is life.

I soldiered on, helped dispose of Mom's belongings over a 6 month period, dealing with my father was very difficult as usual. I found new work at a better place, with more money, and a horrible pre-dawn commute that kept me from home and fun for better than 12 hours a day. Then with the coming of summer I started pulling out of the funk. More money was nice. Getting to work after sunrise was good. I made Permanent. They gave me a house on the Mountain. Staying on the Mountain in the clean air and the trees. All helped to pull me from the funk.

My wife and I decided to try something different. She was going to go to Europe at the beginning of the summer and stay with friends, and I was going to go to Burning Man. She got her 3 week trip and had a great time. I got my ticket and made plans, paid camp dues. got some prep done... and the money ran out. That was ok though as I came up with a plan to sell our van and use some of that cash to finish prepping and get me there.

My plan for the Burn was simple. Go alone, let the wind take me, only worry about myself. Only one planned thing: Take the mortal remains of my Mother Lois, to the Temple, and leave her there with my wishes for peace and my love, and then to come back for the Sunday Temple burn. All else I would let the wind decide.

The van is not selling. I figured I could still make it though as I really only needed gas and food money. And then Tuesday happened. Our bank card was compromised and all our money was stolen. Sure, we will get it back, but were told 6 weeks... So I am selling my ticket to buy groceries so the family can eat. I made this decision last night. There really is no choice. As usual I am putting all else in front of what I know I need. That is the job of a father, I know.

I really needed this Burn though. To repair my psyche, to be in the moment, to say goodbye to the most influential person of my life.

As I sit here mourning my own loss, slipping back into the dark, I know it is yet another place in my life where I lost control. And I wonder. Did I ever have any control in the first place? Will I ever have control? When will I come out of this darkness?

What's the point?

Commune or commute?

On the way home
locked in my metal box
locked in formation with other metal boxes
alone yet surrounded
I see along the way, in the sky
Blue and white and blustering with moisture
pregnant with liquid life
near the rise ahead is a waste zone, a land of tanks and chlorine and sewage
Black Iron and shiny stainless and bad odours
floating above it are black spots, darting back and forth
Playing in the thermals, riding up and down
undoubted joy in the alternating Sun and Shade
my spirit guides are calling to me and saying
enjoy the moment, for it shall pass sooner than you think
I drive on



Art by G. Cournoyer

Receiving Luna

As the sun sets to the northwest, I take a walk under the bright moon. Past the Sweet Peas, buzzing with pollinators, past the Apple, gravid with fruit, down the road towards the Cathedral. The Cathedral dome glows an orange hue in the gloaming.

Shutters were open under Her glowing presence, allowing the light to penetrate deeply into the sanctum. I can see the device, cold hard steel shining inside. Never does it see the daylight, but under Her glow the device sparkles on it's own, ready to receive the Knowledge as it is showered on all of us.

Dogvan2

The Dogvan is home. I put a battery charger on it and after a night charge, cranked the engine over a bit with the coil off to get the oil moving and then plugged it back in and it fired right up. let it Idle for a while and cleaned a bunch of painting crap out of the back and off I went! First stop the dumpster where I swept out all the smaller stuff and a ton of mouse crap. There was a portopotty in the back and it had been a mouse haus...

Then to the Powerhouse where I hosed the van down and completely out to get the mouse crap and dust out, filled the tires and drove it to the house. This beastie purrs! Clutch is good, the shifter works fine, the brakes grab well, its a running truck. There is a sticker over the fuel filler and I asked what that's about. "Any more than 5 gallons and it dumps on the ground, but I replaced the tank, so don't worry about it..."






Cage comes out tonight after dinner

The Dogvan

Soon to be the DawgHaus


Old machinery is a great love for me. I usually admire other people's rolling stock and wish I could do the same. Well, times have changed and I have just picked up for free a "slightly used" 1964 Dodge A100 compact van. This beast was bought originally by Caltech, Palomar Mountain Observatory as the Painters truck, and as I work there and showed interest in it, it was given to me.
The van is mostly straight, with 2 small dents on the passenger side, and no rust other than some surface rust that will sand off easily. Interior is spartan as this was a work truck. Seats are shot and I am going to attempt to find junk-yard replacements for them with modern shoulder belts.
Mechanically very strong with a venerable Dodge Slant 6 170CI engine and a 3 speed Manual "3 on the tree" transmission. All works great, and was rebuilt from Mopar factory parts and a .10 over bore.

My intent for the exterior will be the Rat-Rod look, shaved body, Nerf bars, shiny rims and some sort of a graphic down the body to break up the slab side.

A note on the name Dogvan. When Bruce gave me the pink slip his wife Dana was mad that it went to someone she knew as she does not want it back. She called it the Dogvan not knowing my nickname is Dawg... That's Karma for you, the Dogvan becomes Dawg's van...

The list:
First thing is get all the paint buckets out
Remove bumpers
Remove the interior cage: It has a very heavy steel divider between the front and back.
Remove and replace or rebuild seats
Pull the roof rack and set aside and eventually rebuild it flat for gear instead of 3 ladders.
Go through it mechanically and swap all fluids, going to check brakes, bearings and tie rods, water pump, wiring.
Paint interior and build in a bed, a cabinet, and some sort of an extra seat. Thinking of a cj back seat and making some sort of quick release so I can toss it out the door when camping.
Somewhere along the way I will get some shiny rims for it.
Body work: Get the dents out, just two! Wet sand and prime and pick a two-tone paint job.

I intend to get all the mechanical and interior work done before Burning Man, 2010 and also finish the rack so I can throw a genny on the roof and run AC for the drive.

Stay tuned for more!

Chupa Chihuahua

Chupa-Chihuahua

A work of fiction By Bad-Dawg

They are there, in the dark and their eerie sounds haunt me to this day. This is not a myth. This is fact. And I am scared.

It all started in the ‘80s. In San Bernardino, CA. San Bernardino is a sleepy city in the Inland Empire, known for oranges, lowered Chevy’s and the first stop on old Route 66 from LA. People don’t normally go there, but pass through on the interstate Highways which all seem to connect there. There has been tremendous growth in the area, oranges lemons and grapefruits have been giving way to an onslaught of strip malls, apartments and cracker-box houses.

Due to a large Latino community, and the small yards, Chihuahuas have long been a favorite dog in this town. Many are well cared for little hellions and are loved by their masters. Many have gone to the dark side…

I had seen them before, packs of 10 or 20 of them running along in the alleys behind such places as Gazzolo’s German Restaurant on East Highland Ave, fighting over the used sausage casings, or near the dumpsters at Gus Jr. But I didn’t know they were spreading and mutating.

I found out about this strange mutation going on the hard way. My wife and I went to visit our friends Jeanne-Marie and Matt and we had a great time. But around 4 Am I was restless and decided to take a walk through the neighborhood along Waterman St. I was just quietly strolling along when one of these packs came into view down the road. At first I thought I was seeing a fur ball of cats and wanted to get a better look so I crossed over the roadway and approached them. But they were small and it was dark. Then I thought they were big rats and got a little nervous but wanted to see what they were doing so I continued creeping along, unnoticed. That was when I realized they were Chihuahuas and they were on top of something. There was a bit of snarling going on and I thought it was a trash bag, but wasn’t quite sure. So I got closer. And that’s when I figured it out.

They were not Chihuahuas at all and it was not a trash bag. It was a human, a homeless person and they had taken him down and were fighting over his organs. I think I screamed at that point because they were suddenly aware of me and I saw their red eyes for the first time. Glowing with an inner darkness, snarling bloody fangs dripping gore on the white concrete near Dunkin Donuts. Those beady eyes bored into my skull and I knew the truth. The mark of the Beast was on them, they were ChupaChihuahua and they were onto me.

I took off running and about 20 of them went chasing after me. I was running fast and these little demons were going to catch up. I knew I was doomed but kept running towards the San Bernardino Medical Center. I ran towards the white lights as fast as I could. Like Jesse Owens, my shoes were smoking on the pavement. I ran up to the large Iron fence and threw myself into the air and just managed to grab the top rail. One of the Chupas grabbed my right heel and I screamed at the top of my lungs and flailed like a Crack Whore being arrested.

I managed to kick it loose and bleeding profusely I clambered up and over, Thanking the Gods for the 3 feet of brick at the bottom of the fence. They were snarling and leaping at the fence with all their dark might but couldn’t make it over the bricks. I laid there on the ground for a moment and looked at the crazy sight before me These were not dogs anymore. They were hateful and mean and they had small horns. They were singed from the fires of hell and I was bitten from their poisoned, fowl mouths. The one I had smashed was cowering at the curb and the others turned on it and tore it to pieces.

I took this to mean I could go and ran to the ER. There was a little old man out front who had watched the whole thing and he said to me, “You were lucky, most people don’t make it”. And to this day, my heel festers, pulsing with the demon poison. I hope I don’t change into one…