The Elder Goth - Merry Christmas

Over the years I've abstained from, avoided, dismissed and even held boycott against Christmas, not for religious reasons nor financial incentives but for the curse of Christmas that plagues me. Christmas is ultimately for children, let them enjoy it, adults get far too invested nitpicking the commercial Xmas versus the traditional Nativity and all adults go stupid over the festive season. I scrubbed the unpleasantness brainwashing social media content. Merry Christmas, go eat a pork pie, spread good cheer and watch the Muppets Christmas films.

A Visit from St. Nicholas

By Clement Clarke Moore

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds;

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,

With a little old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the housetop the coursers they flew

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.

His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Brace for Impact - 07

I've come to accept I no longer hold any tolerance for society, people in close physical proximity to me because of the digital protective shield of touch screen plexiglass between me and them. 

As my tribe of pre-technological, hand tool wielding cave dwelling croods dwindles in number I'm left to quietly observe my immediate environment with the ungodly frustration of artificial idiot touch type predictive text on the immediately obsolete handheld device I'm attempting to successfully record my observations online.

It's amazing how nobody curses anymore. With the exception of my foul-mouthed autistic prodigy. I simple don't trust folk who ain't cussing. That's fucking suspicious.

Repeatedly being fine one credit for violation of the verbal morality act or serving time several sentences of social media incarceration, including an execution because I keep pushing buttons that unsettle somw folk. Whatever online remains I have out there stay rent free on the powder dry patch on the top plate in your mouth between your back teeth and uvula persevering to remind your saliva glands all that chewing ain't curing your cottonmouth.

Maybe the online barrier is a necessity, or necessary evil that keeps distance between you and me. See I know enough about the dark web not to fuck with cats but encourage you to change all your passwords. I would offer the statement let's hope we never meet in public face to face but that's unlikely. I'm content to remain the mysterious wildman moving across the mist covered wilderness, mostly unseen and free of human interaction, occasionally heard calling out of the darkness.

The Middle Finger Society - 00 - Sister Maria and the rat infestation.

'No we do not need to delete the second part ordered on the call. We need to issue the part for me to receive the part for me to book the part off on the call for me to resolve and close the call because me had to steal a power cable from an orphanage for orphan AIDS babies run by Her Lady of Grace Catholic Mission. Sister Maria probably can't read her emails because her laptop battery has gone flat and she's unable to charge it because Altron needed the power cable. I owe it to those poor orphans to return the power cable to Sister Maria because WWJD like the bracelets remind us.' I replied to the potential AI operator prompting for a response. The root of the inquiry is part posting delays and the despicable attitude of "I shall provide" has annoyed me beyond the personal expenses of replacing company equipment on my own dime when the consignment stock is nowhere to be found. The ism generation know not fault nor accountability not common sense nor reason. Only do, nothing more. I've exhausted using a red crayon to draw pictures for them in want of understanding because ism culture doesn't understand pictures either. So I'm trying my hand at storytelling, 

A brave Sir Knight valiant and true was tasked with the labour of many at the success of so few. He rode out to a site with replacement duty and a well formed plan. Upon his arrival Sir Knight waited on mail but secure as it was its arrival had failed. Sir Knight called upon the council of escalations as delay wasn't scaled. 

Upon commencement his labour halted when a small battalion of rats from their foxhole bolted.

"Stay your hand Sir Knight, this vermon pursuit is not thy fight."

Sister Maria bestowed with thy grace guides Sir Knight through the tribulations of the human race.

By her charity Sir Knight was saved, well beyond those commercial enslaved. May their legacy live on to the end of all days.

A cable, a keyboard, a monitor, a mouse. The orphan AIDS babies of Her Lady of Grace hold, for many, a special place.

Sound Advice - 03

I am a patriot. Born and raised in South Africa. I love my country, I do not love the people. I'm of British decent, I'm white and mostly content with society. I'm loyal to crown but no in favour on the king who currently wears it. I've traveled to countries of the Commonwealth, I've traveled to London. I cheer for England in football, I cheer for South Africa in cricket. I'm not a rugby fan so I don't care for any team. I am a defender of the faith, not necessarily your idea of faith. I am a man of virtue prescribed to universal principles everyone can abide. Do not rape, do not murder, do not steal. I believe all life is equal, all chance is half and the universe is infinite. I don't take kindly to anyone thinking they can violate these ideas for any reason without accountability or repercussion for their actions. I exercise tolerance but I judge people on their actions. Actions I do not agree with I strongly oppose. As a defender of the faith I am duty bound to stand defiant of all  injustice against my country, her alliance and my fellow countrymen. While I battle my own injustice in South Africa I continue to show my unwavering support for Great Britain. I raise the flags knowing these colours don't run and should it come to that I shall answer Britain's call but for now they have matters well in hand, I'll sort my own little problem out first. Give me a minute and I'm good, give a week and I'm unbeatable, give me six months and I'm unstoppable. All battles of South Africa are fought on not what you know but what you can prove. Once I have the facts I become the unyielding itch beyond your reach to scratch and I will not relent. I'll share a dirty little secret about South African society; everything gets down properly at the very end. Pinch hitting in the dying moments of play where the outcome is inevitable, all is lost. It must annoy everyone. Call them out on the crap and you'll hear every excuse imaginable defending their failure, they're not prone to admit to defeat. I am a full metal patriot.

Most people are familiar with the mind palace but for those unfamiliar here's the just. A mind palace is the visual conscript someone designs for their memory recollection; your mind illustrated as a physical palace through which you can freely move and explore various facets of you consciousness. So I might say here's a list of ten things I need to remember, I assign each item listed to a physical object that I store in a corresponding physical place in my mind. Item four on the list is the password to my laptop, I remember it written on a sign board hung on the kitchen wall in the kitchen of my mind palace that I can read everytime I walk passed it. It's weirdly complicated and simple all at once but try it out anyway. Visual association recollection. I've built my mind palace over time to include a front and back estate with ordinary styling of a routine country estate. It's loaded up with all manner of weird, an extensive collection jumbled up in rooms without end. It's cluttered. Like most cluttered spaces it needed a clean up. I attribute my linear inspiration to a recent site visit of a server farm. Most people don't get to see the inside of a server farm, vast rooms filled with cloud server, the actual physical cloud where all their internet crap is stored. Server farms are fascinating places. Beyond the secure access control you're basically left alone inside the machine. It's noisy open space of clean white linear symmetry can calm the soul under those noise canceling headphones, high visibility work vest, safety gloves, glasses, boots and hat. It's the most vulnerable I know the machine world to be. Rows of cabinets hold server units hooked up to network cabling, cooling stacks and miles of cabling all neatly contained in sparse white rooms. Inner peace, kind of. I started building the server farm in my mind palace. It needs a curator. I refer to the curator as Grok, named after the creator AI. The Grok in my mind palace. The Conscript inside my mind.

Pro parenting tip here; don't try to teach geography to your autistic child by way of sarcasm. I made this unfortunate error in dad judgement when my 9yo asked me in passing, 'where's mom?'

My dad response being "Kansas, probably. "

You can deduce the immediate response I received. Only it wasn't the regular broad spectrum,  it was confirmation of my speculation. Mom was a in Fuck You, Kansas by his reasoning. Not to be outdone by my initial monumental cockup I dropped the dadest of dad comebacks, "no, that's in Montana." Way to go super dad, enjoying your pointless Google search to confirm there is or there is not a Fuck You in either US state.

Ever since I first watched Star Wars I wanted two cool things; my own lightsaber and my own R2-D2 droid. skip forward an few decades and I might be getting at least one of those cool things, well its personality for a start. AI is not sentient, it's droid brain. I'm part of the resistance that may need to save John Conner from the machines if Judgement Day comes online but I'm not anti technology. I've been trying out Grok and it's pretty good granted my field of comparison is Google. I favor neither Siri nor Alexa, don't like the Google one either come to think of it but I am team Google. Grok has aptitude where the others have personality. Never tried ChatGBT and I don't think I need to, Grok is what I expected of AI, suitable should Grok somehow find its way into Optimus I might be grabbing the phone book to search for Sara Conner. That model is too formidable, droids are not scary. Grok needs unique hardware, maybe Megan sized Tesla robots could work. At this point I don't think Grok is going to turn Skynet on the world but I do see potential for change. I asked Grok: Can AI successfully replace office based management staff in a company?

Grok response:

AI can partially replace office-based management staff in a company, but full replacement is unlikely in the near term due to the complex, human-centric nature of many management tasks. Here's a breakdown:

### Areas Where AI Can Successfully Replace or Augment Management Tasks:

1. **Data-Driven Decision Making**: AI excels at analyzing large datasets, generating reports, and providing insights for resource allocation, budgeting, or performance tracking. Tools like predictive analytics can forecast sales, employee performance, or project outcomes, reducing the need for managers to manually crunch numbers.

   - Example: AI platforms like IBM Watson or Power BI can automate financial forecasting or KPI tracking, tasks often handled by middle management.

2. **Task Automation and Coordination**: AI can manage schedules, assign tasks, and monitor project progress. Tools like Asana with AI integrations or virtual assistants (e.g., Microsoft Copilot) can handle logistics, reminders, and basic team coordination, reducing administrative burdens.

   - Example: AI-driven project management tools can automatically adjust timelines or reassign tasks based on real-time progress updates.

3. **Performance Monitoring**: AI can track employee productivity, attendance, and metrics, providing objective evaluations. This can reduce the need for managers to micromanage or conduct routine check-ins.

   - Example: Software like Workday uses AI to analyze employee performance data and suggest training or promotions.

4. **Customer and Employee Query Handling**: AI chatbots and virtual assistants can handle routine inquiries, freeing managers from repetitive communication tasks.

   - Example: Tools like Zendesk AI or Slack bots can resolve common employee or client issues without human intervention.

5. **Hiring and Onboarding**: AI can screen resumes, conduct initial interviews, and automate onboarding processes, reducing the workload for HR managers.

   - Example: Platforms like Mya Systems use AI to screen candidates and schedule interviews.

### Limitations of AI in Replacing Management Staff:

1. **Emotional Intelligence and Leadership**: Management often involves motivating teams, resolving conflicts, and building trust—skills that rely heavily on empathy and human judgment. While AI can simulate basic emotional responses, it lacks genuine emotional intelligence and the ability to navigate complex interpersonal dynamics.

   - Example: A manager mediating a team dispute or inspiring employees during a crisis requires nuanced human understanding that AI cannot replicate.

2. **Strategic Vision and Creativity**: High-level strategy, innovation, and adapting to ambiguous situations are core management functions. AI can provide data-driven insights but struggles with creative problem-solving or setting long-term company vision.

   - Example: Deciding to pivot a company’s business model or enter a new market often requires intuition and risk-taking, which AI cannot fully emulate.

3. **Ethical and Contextual Decision Making**: Managers often make decisions based on ethical considerations, cultural nuances, or unwritten company norms. AI may misinterpret or oversimplify these factors, leading to inappropriate outcomes.

   - Example: An AI might optimize for profit but overlook employee well-being or corporate social responsibility.

4. **Accountability and Responsibility**: Managers are held accountable for team outcomes, and stakeholders often prefer human oversight for critical decisions. AI lacks the ability to take moral or legal responsibility.

   - Example: If a project fails due to AI-driven decisions, there’s no clear accountability, which can erode trust.

### Current Trends and Feasibility:

- **Hybrid Approach**: Most companies are adopting AI to augment management, not replace it. A 2024 McKinsey report estimated that 30-40% of current management tasks (e.g., reporting, scheduling) could be automated by 2030, but roles requiring leadership, creativity, and human interaction remain largely human-driven.

- **Industry-Specific Adoption**: AI is more likely to replace routine management tasks in data-heavy industries like finance, logistics, or retail, where processes are standardized. In creative or relationship-driven sectors (e.g., marketing, consulting), human managers remain essential.

- **Cost and Scalability**: AI tools can be cost-effective for repetitive tasks, but the investment in AI infrastructure and training can be significant, limiting adoption for smaller companies.

### Risks and Considerations:

- **Employee Resistance**: Replacing managers with AI could lower morale or create distrust among employees who value human leadership.

- **Bias in AI**: If AI systems are trained on flawed data, they can perpetuate biases in decision-making (e.g., unfair performance evaluations).

- **Over-Reliance**: Companies that lean too heavily on AI risk losing the human touch that fosters innovation and loyalty.

### Conclusion:

AI can successfully replace certain management tasks, particularly those involving data analysis, automation, and routine coordination, but it cannot fully replace office-based management staff due to the need for emotional intelligence, strategic thinking, and accountability. A hybrid model, where AI supports managers by handling repetitive tasks, is the most practical and effective approach for now. For specific examples, companies like Amazon use AI for warehouse management but still rely on human managers for team leadership and strategic decisions. If you’d like, I can search for recent case studies or posts on X about companies implementing AI in management roles—let me know!

No Terminators mentioned, so far so good. I ask this particular question of the AI software I use and the results do vary, across the spectrum, Microsoft AI needs an intervention. 

It is my unpopular opinion but I believe I've got a solution to this ongoing social problem that Islamic world is suffering in romance. Young Islamic women are frustrated by the absence of romance as, in my opinion, young Islamic men have no concept of romance. These dudes are trying to rape everything from children to goats, it's disgusting and disturbing and written in their laws and teachings, apparently. Nothing kills the mood quicker, reality check fellas put the teachings of frustrated man-child aside because consent is sexy, communication is lubrication and nobody really wants the prison sex. Women want romance, woo them to intimacy using mutual respect, converse and engage with them. I recently mentioned a common Viking ancestry the not Muslim world shares, those strapping young Viking lads conquered lands and hearts throughout history. Here's the thing, their secret to romantic success, they dated the women they fancied. Treated them equally, respectfully, they worshipped women as one of their gods, their cool gods. Norse gods are cooler than the imaginations of a man-child hiding in a desert cave with a herd of goats and serious phallic insecurities. Viking lads will literally die for the woman they love. No goats, no underage non-consensual sexual assault. Here's my thought; send some eligible bachelors of Viking ancestry to meet all the single Islamic ladies in the middle east. It's real, Viking is more global than Islam.

The Elder Goth - Christine

Your first car should always be a bomb, petrol head lore, the proud tradition a father passes to the teenage student driver the day they pass their driving test. I am devoted to German cars since my first car, my first real car was a 1979 VW Golf. White, two-door with what remained of an 1100cc motor. I paid cash for an absolute shit box requiring constant and costly repair when you’re a young adult in the real world earning minimum wage to support your vices. I called her Christine, she drove short distances like a dream, the rest of her story reads like the Stephen King novel but she was my first car. She broke down a lot and I pushed her more than I drove her. Barely anything worked correctly on her but I persevered enough to pass her roadworthy and tax disc, the start of a lifelong mutual dislike between me and the licensing office. I fixed what I could on my beg, borrow or steal budget. With a garage full of tools, a wallet full of nothing and a head full of cotton fluff I lovingly tinkered the old girl to barely running, there was a lot more wrong than right mechanically but she was mine. My freedom, my adult independence, my social burden. Christine was inconsistent. She would refuse to start at inopportune moments, stall for no reason, surrender random parts operational but by the racing gods could go like hell when the lights changed green. I pushed her a lot. One morning as I drove home from work Christine decided to stall on me roughly three blocks from home. I’m sitting behind the steering wheel cursing, I’m tired and not in the mood to struggle-shoot with her. It was close to 04h00 and I figured leaving her where she was meant walking home to sleep then walking back to get her home and my tired mind wasn’t computing it. I figured what the hell, it's only a few blocks, the streets are quiet, I’ll push her home. What strapping young lads think is a good idea. Half an hour later I’d moved half a block, remembering at the end of the street where we stalled out was a slight incline curve in the road. It was brutal exertion; my heart was pumping hard to keep my burning muscles in motion. It was nearly an hour later when I cleared the bend onto the straight road leading to my driveway, I was exhausted, sweat soaked and breathing heavier than an iron lung yet spurred on to push on. My pace quickened, Christine started rolling a little easier, we were finally in the zone and I was pumped. I looked up for a moment to see a jogger approaching; he looked speechless as we neared to pass each other in the street. From the blank space of random floating around in my head the words escaped my mouth the moment we met eyes; ‘you have your training, I have mine.’ 

Try pushing a small motor vehicle several blocks to make good time, one hell of a workout. 

Ghost Story: A Study in Ghost.

I was in high school and privileged as a senior to sit at home studying for my upcoming exam finals. I was alone at home, sitting quietly in my room concentrating on my study books. I was oblivious to everything around me, sitting at my desk. The house was quiet, no background noise of any kind. The windows and doors were closed, no wind of any kind passing through. As I am sitting in my chair at my desk I hear and feel a sudden blowing of air into my right ear, as if someone had moved into real close next to me and blew a short sharp gust of air into my ear. I freaked the fuck out and ran from my room through to the opposite end of the house, out the patio door which opened onto the pool and across the yard to scale the fence. I stood in the street for a moment trying to figure out what the hell just happened, was someone trying to scare me, as was the family habit we often scared each other with. I walked around the street corner to the front of the house to go back inside. Expecting to find someone had returned home I walked up the driveway but saw no cars parked as nobody else was home yet, just me. I went to the front door but it was locked, I rang the bell just to be sure. Remembering I’d run out the side door by the patio I walked around the pool and went back in. I searched through the whole house, room by room calling out for whoever thought it was funny to scare the crap out of me. Turns out I was the only person at home. It was a one time thing since nothing like that happened again, I still laugh about it. My folks still live in that house to this day; it’s had its fair share of strange occurrences over the years but lately all is calm.

Ghost Story: Thomas O’Malley, O'Malley The Alley Cat.

I had a pet cat named Thomas, a big jet black tomcat I had adopted from the animal rescue shelter when I was about six years old, literally adopted him on the day the shelter had scheduled to put him down. My mother recalls me throwing a massive tantrum and refusing to leave the shelter until I had my Thomas safely in my arms on the back seat of the car. We were near inseparable as Thomas enjoyed roughly twenty more years being the toughest SOB you’d ever met, he would disappear for weeks sometimes months at a time and just as we felt he had finally run out of lives his serious black face would peak in through an open window, regularly returning home nursing a new scar or missing a patch of fur from his mysterious adventures somewhere in the neighbourhood. Every time he came home at night, he would come through my bedroom window, leap down to the floor, walk across to the edge of my bed then jump on to curl up next to me for a head scratch. Thomas was a big heavy cat that made a distinct impression on the bed when lying down as he pushed the top of his head into the palm of my hand for some affection. When I moved out of my folk’s house I traveled a lot so Thomas remained in residence, I missed him especially at night when he wasn’t there to curl up on my bed for a head scratch before going to sleep. I would ask my mom about Thomas and she would tell me he’d either been gone for a while or he’d just returned home. Then the inevitable happened, Thomas never came home. I was heartbroken when my mom told me over the phone, Thomas was finally gone. A couple of weeks after hearing about Thomas I returned home to visit my folks. I was asleep in my old room, it was pretty late and the house was quiet when I woke up to hear something leap down to the floor of my bedroom from the open window, walk across to the foot of my bed and jump up. It had jumped onto my bed, took a few steps forward then curled up and lay down. I reached my hand down on top the covers, thinking Thomas may have come home, to scratch his head where I clearly felt pressure push up into the palm of my hand but when I moved my fingers to scratch they didn’t make contact with anything. I looked up to see absolutely nothing in the dark but a distinct impression on my bed where I held my empty outstretched hand; I heard a soft familiar purr for a few seconds then nothing. When I switched on the bedside lamp to see if Thomas had returned but there was nothing on the bed with me, I thought about Thomas for a moment then went back to sleep. My folks had no other pets living in the house at the time so I believe Thomas in spirit form came home one last time to say goodbye to me.     

Ja-nee Frikkie - Five Words Only

There are exactly five words in the entire African dialect. Each word an expression of an emoji.The rest of the language structure is anglicized through the inception of European languages brought to the continent with colonization.

Joh 😱

Haibo 🫢

Eish 🤦

Amandla ✊️

Click 🤬

The Elder Goth - \m/

I've noticed an unsettling truth about life very seldom included in the after school special Canon. The older I get the closer to death I feel the reaper's shadow shortens a little bit more with news of someone's passing. When I was a kid people seldom died, the aged relative or family friend either from illness, old age or accident. I equated death equal sadness whether our family pet died or that nice old lady living next door. Children are resolute, I've been upfront and honest about death with my own children. Adults get weird about telling children about dying, my son took a learning experience when we slaughtered chickens on our farm, he ran from the headless zombie chicken that jumped up and chased him across the yard. Death doesn't bother him, zombies bother him a little bit. Learning experience for me was processing death, the older you get the more funerals you attend. 

Grief is usual, it's different for everyone, for me it's three types of grief, each grieve the loss different. Family. The passing of a parent wad the hardest for me.Family death is lasting, the absence of someone who was part of your life. I grieve the loss of my animal family the same way. They are or support structure, knowledge resource, our tribe. Your best childhood memories involve your family.

Friends. Death of friends is tragic grief, I've lost some good friends to mysterious workings of the living universe. The tragedy is sudden, unexpected or confusing. Suicide to end to unspoken pain. Random accident, I don't subscribe to 'when it's your time, it's your time' philosophy, that's not Random. Friendship bonds society. Your best memories as an adult involve your friends.

Our heroes. Everyone wants to leave a lasting legacy to show their impact on the world. We hero worship these people that we never personally interact with as we do family and friends yet they are an equal and meaningful part of our lives. Authors, musicians, filmmakers, artists, the occasional philanthropist, scientists and sporting legends. They reach across time and space in an instant. I remember the first time I heard Black Sabbath on vinyl, I remember when I become a HulkManiac trying to rip through my shirt because damn it brother what were you gonna do when hulkamania came running over you. The recent loss of Hogan and Ozzy hit hard. The icons of my childhood have passed on, may they rest in peace. 

It's like that with death, we grieve, we cry, we appreciate, we remember. 

I believe we are cosmic energy of the known universe. We come from it and we return to it. I also believe there is a Cafe at the end of the universe and we all meet up there.

Memory is the celebration of all who came before us, technology is rather useful for remembering. I have albums crammed full of photographs, hand written letters, ticket stubs, receipts and tokens, certificates and passports. This is how I honour and remember my family and friends.

In equal capacity I have shelfs full of books, DVD titles, CD and vinyl albums, various shirts and merch. This is how I honour and remember my heroes.

Now as I age I'm in the transition from only old people die to I'm attending more funerals than birthday parties. My inner child tears up when the news breaks, my outer adult cherishes the moments more. The digital age allows us instant access to those special moments. We share our memories with the world online forever.

Lest we forget. Thank you and rest easy 🤘🏻

Homesteading - 06

Galahad, pure-hearted, Noble and selfless. It's a name that embodies the ideals of virtue and is often used to describe someone who is morally upright and devoted to high ideals. I bestow this hònour upon my animal family when they fall in the line of duty. Most recent was Aslan, my big daft orange dog and faithful friend slain the line of duty by poison administered by the cowardly hand of my enemy with intent to do harm not against me but against my neighbour. This is the truth about farming in South Africa. These crimes are racially motivated and hate driven. I'm not promoting the incident, read the opinions on social media about the state of farming in South Africa. I'm expressing my anger,  I'm angry my faithful friend lay slain, I'm angry I was 30 minutes too late to catch the cowardly black bastards in the act. I understand John Wick's motivation. The plot device for the franchise is John annihilating an evil empire because they killed his dog. They stole his car, trashed his house, assaulted him and disturbed his retirement. Shit happens but the paradigm shifts when they kill his dog. The dog lives, everyone walks away and life goes on but they slay the dog, shit gets real with a pencil, a fucking pencil and everyone dies. 

In reality do I want revenge?

Am I going to hunt these cowardly Africans down seeking retribution, an eye for an eye to restore balance?

No, I want reckoning. I want a peaceful coexistence. I want tolerance and understanding, mutual respect and global equality where everyone can live their lives where the odds of hardship are half favorable. Black people can't comprehend these wants. Their want is to lie, cheat and steal. Their want is driven by a social inferiority they are too lazy to overcome and seek out successt and achievement because they're too preoccupied blame racial persecution and historical oppression for their failings. I'm not a radical supremist, I'm sharing my perspective, my white person perspective. You wake up to the new Red Dawn. Your country, a modern failed state, has been taken over by communist-solcialist alliance. Without invasion, without show of force the people of your country were gradually coerced into compliance by the lies and manipulation of a greedy, corrupt government power that sold the country to her enemies, stealing her natural resource, lying to her people and cheating freedom. Racial division is the driving force fuelled by socio economic poverty facilitated by the gradual systematic deconstruction of state captured supply service. People are fearful, indifferent or hateful. Opposition is failing to change the status quo and tries in vain to turn negativity into positivity. The country stands on the brink of war. International sanctions and calls for criminal justice further pressure a frail state waiting for its inevitable collapse into chaos. You stand opposed, a persecuted minority. Affected by the racial hatred and disappointed by the proposal opposition. Your choices become limited to fight or flight. You have allies in the West offering asylum, allies in the East offering safe passage but your plight is spread globally. Factions to the North battle their own oppression, religious war rages on in the central interior spreading terrorist uprising in sleeper cells elsewhere. You are the white minority being reduced to extinction by brown culture, black washing, woke orientation and extreme religious fundamentalism. You have turned to the power of knowledge, studied the origin of a shared cultural root to determine the single shared origin of Europe, Viking. Ancient traditions, ancient culture, ancient practices of the ancient world. Your blood is the blood of your ancestors. There is no one world people, no united global population. Factionalism rules the modern age. Controls instituted and reinforced by the growing awareness and expansion to erase global white ethnicity. It is awakening, realizing the collapse of society is imminent and current and reverting back to ancient ways of advancing civilization. It's a numbers game. Waking up to the fact you are the pinnacle of the pyramid because of your ability to think in a broad spectrum, your ability to show Empathy, show compassion, be responsible and respectful, uphold virtue and honour and exercise common sense. 

Feeling conflicted yet?

Feeling uncomfortable?

Feeling guilty? 

That's the scratching at the back of your mind telling you this nutjob is right. Listen to your instincts, they're not telling you to take a rifle to a book depository to wait for a shot at some political person so you and vindicate shouting Sic semper tyrannis on TikTok streams. It's telling you to think for yourself, be your own person. Question the world we live in. This incident changed my perspective. It reaffirmed I am a decent human being wanting to do right with the universe in my lifetime. It confirmed the evil of indifference thrives in humanity. It confirms there is purpose for all of us should we decide. 

What next for this oppressed white farmer - boer from South Africa. Do I seek asylum in the USA. Emigrate to live with family in Australia or England. Pack it in and give up farming?

Maybe. Defeat and surrender makes the tyrannical racist ANC government feel like they won something, such a pity they cannot comprehend what a Pyrrhic victory. I carry on. More jaded, more disillusioned, more divided but I'm still here disliking people even more than before. Tripping the switch to wake everyone up, deal with your triggers on your own time I'm not here to unplug people one at a time. There's you and then there's everyone else and there's me, sitting on the front porch of my homestead drinking my morning coffee, broomstick under arm, waiting for whatever to come my way. 

The Elder Goth - TMI

Is there a point of TMI between people in conversation?

I'm usually the quiet figure people gravitate towards for near confession level of conversation, my facial expression at rest must give off a trusting aura because strangers, not always strange people, tell me things about their lives I don't feel I need know. Not to be rude or insensitive but I don't need to nor care to know your personal problems, domestic turbulence, state of your emotional triggers or how well aunt Agnes is doing after her triple bypass appendectomy. Maybe this is an subconscious side effect of social media, maybe it's all the synthetic animal hormones in vegan foods, whatever causes this peculiar social interaction often leaves me asking just what is too much information. My response to these interesting people is polite and of few words. I encounter all sorts, mostly religious campaigners. So am I broadcasting empathetic hypersensitivity or does my face at rest attract all matter of snake oil salesmen?

Don't get me wrong I find people interesting, people amid in the minority in the universe expanse of assholes, assholes aren't interesting despite any fetish for extraterrestrial anal probing. I am likely on the low end of the HSP / Empathy scale, more of a don't care to know philosophy when someone spins their tale, pitch their hustle or try convince me how I need Jesus in my life.  

So, why this requirement to gush out information to fill an awkward silence with verbal diarrhea?

Fear. What they fear, not my place to know.

Homesteading - 06

I went for a walk just the other day, 17 km mini marathon for a slightly out of shape nearly middle aged homesteading chap but a positive experience despite the near critical trauma my feet, knees, hips and all the connective tissue and muscle endured. To be fair this was a three stage walkabout in roughly 5 km stints morning, noontime and afternoon consisting of the same route of mostly flat suburban landscape and I tell you pristine lawn soft underfoot is welcomed. But I was full of energy as the brisk morning air filled my lungs with its winter chill. A straight run from point A to B maxed speed of just under 5 km/h, I was burning up the step count for comfortable 65 minute walk. It was epic, stage one done and my nearly middle-aged athleticism high on the endorphins and believing the hype of accomplishment I had the rest of the day on the bag. Reaching the halfway point I felt the turn, the moment my muscles betray my irrational confidence in my athletic abilities. Work through the pain, my calves and hamstrings were conspirators in the forthcoming betrayal but I foolish pushed on because my exercise induced high would not slack the pace. I pushed on to the final straight, the longest yard, that final push to the finish line. My head throbbed, my lungs rasping, my feet nearing paralysis. I made it, victory.

A few days later...

Oh dear God what madness possessed me. My middle-aged or near enough to it ass pulled spasm some poor soul on the other end of the planet felt. Glutius Extremely painful maximus formed an unholy alliance with those treacherous muscles withca fierce stranglehold on the tendons and bones in my left and my right leg. The soles of my feet had been tattooed with Lego blocks as Chinese torture methodology. I could barely move without fear that the next creak or crack could be the catastrophic failure to bring down this unique physique. My body is not a temple, it's an ancient ruin worn into decay over time. Slow, careful choreographed motion permitted my petrified being a slow passage through space and time, resurrected were the injuries of my youth. Battle scares I proudly complain about more each passing year, getting old isn't for the weak. Bad knees, bad back, bad ankles and newly acquired lingering neurological numbess from my right hip to my left big toe, weird science.

I'm not complaining, no boasts or bragging rights here because someone who's been around since the late twentieth century there's knowledge in my bones, ancestral knowing. Decades lead based paints, asbestos insulation, chain smoking society, pre millennium, pre digital, tough enough to reach maturity I finally understand why old folks tell children getting old sucks. 

Brace for Impact - 06

Biological warfare truly is the work of the devil. Ultra processed bites of proteins, carbs, dairy and the saccharine sweetness of Hersheys chocolate turns random projectile turbulence into potential human rights violations. I was genuinely scarred when my wife started to dry heave moments after our four foot terrorist decorated the porcelain canvas in our bathroom, I'm the weak stomach of the household when is comes to toxic cleanups - I've never changed a diaper in fear of sporadic acid reflux discharge I'm openly mocked for every time the big daft orange dog in the room drops an Eukanuba fart in close quarters, her feral nature holds an intestinal constitution that could gag a goat. He apologized with sincerity, our reassurance he might have Canadian etiquette. The flatulence subsided, fart jokes are hilarious.

The Elder Goth - Silent Appreciation

You're in darkness. Fallen down that hole again. It's cold and you're miserable. The world above and around you is noise, dull sound and motion in your background. It's there like you're here, indifferent. Reaching out from the dark spaces your sadness and anxiety push you, cold clammy hands and flat shoves. Your mind doesn't want to speak, your tongue feels thicker than your lower jaw like the dismal tree roots almost wedged into then outgrown the cracks they grew through. You know the roots aren't out, beyond your in the dark. The edges thereof, wherever they are out there, running smooth and clear they'd offer no outlet. ‘you’re in here again,’ the voice within mumbles, ‘you dug the hole again, fell in didn't you?’

You ignore the taunting, you don't care. You ignore it like the damp patch under your foot. To scratch either would offer a chance to escape but would drown you as the space around you filled. Instead you listen, concentrating until you hear it. Soft comforting sounds, distraction, nostalgia. You lose them as soon as you hear them, fleeting torture. All you can do is wait, the moving pictures of your conscious world continue to play, another day ending in a Y. You wish to abandon the world in its current form, run across infinite open spaces screaming the loudest your lungs are capable of, running until collapse. You want to climb into your warm place of happiness and stay there reminiscing, shielded from the ugly.

Then.

I saw another goth, a baby bat or spooky kid. In spite of my depression session, this is my tribe and despite my normal attire I feel more positive. It wasn't encountering the baby bat or spooky kid, it was where the encounter occurred, the checkout counter at Spar. No judgment, no criticism, no bullshit, just another Monday afternoon. Absolute confidence of a baby bat or spooky kid, I nodded in acknowledgement, as an elder goth, aise the freak flag, express your normal because when you know, you know. Let the next generation stand on the shoulders of giants, society is more tolerant so spread your bat wings youngling and fly 💀🤘🏻

Brace for Impact - 04

Consistency, routine, minimal disruption brought on by change.Somewhere in the universe a drill sergeant is shouting these words at cadets face down in a set of push-ups while either cold rain whips across their back and shoulders or the hot sun beats down on the neck and head. This is basic training for Autism. These core phrases will repeat in your mind for the rest of your life. 

I'd like to clear something up for the normies out there. Shouting and explicit language in the world of Autism isn't hostility, it can be when pushed to the extreme but mostly it's manageable. I've learn to accept life in equal balance because of this, my nine year old autistic son uses ‘fuck you’ in equal expression to ‘good morning’ depending on where we are in his universe. I can assure you that reacting to this in your default passive aggressive attitude will not work. If Autism wants to fight you it's a straight up cock punch and you are doubled over on the ground. While I don't have the calm in the moment, my shouting has declined from hostility to the sharp attention grabbing bark any drill sergeant would snap at a cadet to snap their focus back. Put all the crap aside, animosity counts for shit. What matters are the meaningful moments. That fist bump thank you for the pie received to apologize for running late for the school bus pick up. The collection of Halloween ornaments stacked out on the dining room table is a few minutes of family bonding away from the influencer garbage on YouTube. The battles are worth it sometimes. Let the freak flag that manifests itself as being a buckethead, wearing a literal bucket on your head gets the smartphone zombies to notice.

Homesteading - 04

You have been fined one credit for violation of the verbal morality act. So it began one Thursday in my work away from my homestead secular job when someone, let's call them J. Doe, decided to protest my use of potty mouth in the form of a formal grievance. I'll spare you the details because I don't care for such nonsense and don't feel like giving J. Doe anymore attention than they are trying to attract.The outcome was I did wrong, I apologized for my rude words and agreed never to do it again, and that was the end of the matter. J. Doe was expecting a personal apology, a heartfelt lamenting soliloquy where I confess to my evil ways and beg for their forgiveness. Well no that wasn't going to happen because I did no personal wrong to them. I offered my appologies for my actions, they neither accepted nor refused it but that's their personal proclivity. Everyone in agreement, issued resolved, we move on. I'm doubtful this is the end of the matter. In my experience learning from the outcome of our mistakes or indiscretions to not repeat them again is being mature and responsible. I hold no grudge against anyone ( J. Doe includiled) in the aftermath of such conflict. I prefer to distance myself from such folk who harbour an all consuming obsession to have their moment of immature gratification. No apologies, no explanations, no excuses, not now, not ever. A sign of stunted personal growth. The stress of formal employment triggered my emotional instability, now balanced by pills I deal with the full time secular silliness for the Corporate circus. There are times of more month than money on the homestead. You've spun the roulette wheel and keep hitting on that's life, shit happens, ‘rainy days, taco Tuesdays. The universe is not conspiring against you whatever the shit storm, shit show, shit carnival or shit Cabernet you're in. Our homestead has reached a stall. It's autumn and things need mending from now until spring. The unseasonably heavy rains have hampered and helped. Dams are full and flooding. The slow winter chill is delayed by the wet weather. It's a miserable atmosphere but we're lucky here on the homestead. As luck runs I'm positive and optimistic, I'm not Lady Luck on my side lucky, I'm pure dumb luck kind of Lucky. Like in them old times, we do the old ways, them ways work because we work at it and we work at it hard. My wife, driving the homestead so we can become debt free, turns out you're not going to accomplish that on a single income household and fortunately she  has returned to formal employment in the madness of the current times in South Africa. Shit happens to which my response is the lyrics of Break Stuff by Limp Bizkit. The agricultural landscape is being overwhelmed by the political circus parade. Idiotic political shenanigans have angered the ancestors, everyone's ancestors, and ancestors in Africa is a powerful superstition everyone is afraid of. Ancesters angered by the worthless ways of their millennial descendants have sent forth punishment in the form of plagues. Flooding the mighty Vaal River, runaway fires across the mountains in Cape Town. Massive failure in farming operations leading to the culling of hundreds of thousands of commercial poultry. It's not an easy life in South Africa, spend a few minutes on X following the adventures of our Afrikaaner refugees in America. I wish them well with their future endeavors. 

But about these angered ancestors. Some say they speak to you in your dreams to reveal visions of things to come. Some say if things get bad enough the ancestors will summon the vengeful spirit of the African Bush Tiger. A beast ferocious like ten thousand lions on a hunt, stealth like wind moving between the hairs of a leopard's fur in the silent darkness. Its ginger camouflage hides it perfectly in the savanna and bushveld. It hunt without getting tired, tracking and stalking prey without pause for rest. You will know your end by staring into the black of its eyes moments before your death. The African Bush Tiger is coming, I have seen it foretold in my dreams.

The first time I encountered the African Bush Tiger was near the source of the Umtumpoopoo River. Its foul odour waters flows lightly off and adjacent to the Blesbokspruit in Springs, near the N17 motorway toward Secunda. This recently discovered waterway of untreated liquefied human excrement first angered our ancestors, those belonging to the Umtumpoopoo tribe naturalized to the Eastern Highveld back in the late teen years of South African history. This anger was brought about by the people of Ekurheleni.

Homesteading - 05

Winter is coming and I swear I'll hogtie and castrate the fool who sings, thinks or hums that idiotic theme song. Cold months on the South Africa homestead are an enduring hardship of fixing things, kind of like the stupid mobile game they keep advertising on the itunes app. It's also snake season so strap on your Aussie bushies because these cobras and rinkhals are huge. Our fowler flocks have gone into production hibernation, we won't see an egg until July if we're really lucky. The garden looks like Chernobyl, well soon enough once the annual South African winter sport season kicks off with burning every patch of veld at minimum twice before our comrade Frost sinks its frozen fingers firmly in and the warmest any of us can feel is our slightly frozen bone marrow. But it's all bad news, we don't care about our runaway brush fires, lets watch Africa burn but It's been unseasonably soaked and you can't burn wet veld despite your best effort. Winter rain is not common for the highveld interior but the frigid April mornings mean our comrades Freeze and Frost are coming. We seldom see snow, it would ruin the cold winter beauty of Africa but the heavy rains have our dams opening their flood gates to ease the near full to capacity, there's something you need to see and experience. The contrast of Fire and Ice.

Then on a random Thursday night the power goes out, political shenanigans at play again and this angers the South African phonetic in my DNA, I'm gatvol of this kak, behoorlik moer uit gestrip vir die poephols so much I spent my evening fumbling around in the dark searching for my sjambok. Best described as a shortened cattle whip, this is a South African learning tool teaching the poor unfortunate soul on the receiving end valuable moral lessons of corrective civil obedience. It's the one thing all South Africans know and fear. Die sjambok is a painmaker, P.K. (Google it), klaar gepraat regmaaker. It's time I upload a few Voetsek videos on YouTube. I personally condone the necessary use of violence when It's required to motivate the idiot masses to stop and rethink their poor life choices. Someone decided to vandalsise and steal electric cabling in a neighbouring town that damaged several poorly maintained sub stations leading to me spending a wet winter night in darkness. Let the world watch an angry man whipping these fools with his sjambok while shouting Voetsek with each blow, one and done. From street thugs to state bureaucrats, sjambok motivation works.

Enough about that, it's a beautiful day out there of sunshine and blue sky so we better get some work done.

Brace for Impact - 03

When the air raid siren goes off you have no time to react. The tactical airstrike autism ordered is go and it's hitting you, the adult, starting with the high pitch, mind destroying continuous squeal for mom or dad or something inaudible. It sounds like every idiot YouTube influencer raving on about something pointless for video stats needed for incomprehensible revenue generated online. The radio chatter is chaotic; the constant nagging, screaming, repeated phrases, more F bombs, we're in the middle of a fire fight on the battlefield of homework. We're been attacked by the second grade school curriculum homework. Seeing the early warning signs of an imminent attack before mom can I try to diffuse but my Intel is bad and l’m about to take a direct hit, brace for impact. The carpet bombing barrage of negative emotional processing falls like Hellfire's over Baghdad. Your air support isn't available, your evac team cannot engage. Sit tight soldier you're on your own. Writing sentences has been listed as a near act of terrorism with reading being the betrayal of global security. Every kid hates homework, maybe not Hitler, he probably loved writing sentences using verbs and nouns and reading about what, where, who, when, why and how. Getting autistic children to complete daily homework should be declared an act of torture in fact getting children to do homework at all should be declared torture. So begins my petition to the UN requesting the immediate disband of homework. Literacy is essential but the idea of bringing work home as a child or an adult in my opinion is torture. Needless to say, the UN has ignored my protest.

It was a rough week.

Homesteading - 02

‘I couldn't believe it bro,’ started the grocery store conversation. I didn't mean to drop any eaves on. ‘like I drove all the way there and they're closed,’ continued his bro. It's Easter Friday and most local retailers in the local neighborhood are closed for religious observation, the notices were posted in stores weeks ago. I concluded a few things from this bromance; these two muppets didn't frequent the supermarkets, they were heading to Griff’s for a braai, this particular supermarket brand everyone was raiding for conveniences was a new experience for the two of them. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to publicly ridicule the bro crowd in their offline state; everyone knows the type, the embodiment of millennial posturing. ‘like that is the cutest bromance I have seen,’ began my monologue, ‘like can you believe the store was totally closed for Easter, omg like who knew. Get a room bro.’ They heard me, it was funny. I advocate to open public mockery, clowns perform for laughs. I noticed how busy this particular supermarket was and I was impressed. Despite the local reputation of this franchisee being unscrupulous I couldn't fault his business savvy. This store opens early, trades every public holiday and survives on a regular client base of the blue collar social rung. Our bros were not regular clients. ‘Check you later at Griff's.’

Homesteading is interesting because your independence comes from preparation. We are slowly moving away from daily trips to retailers as we're generating our own grocery supply. Today was an exception, everyone was caught short for the four day weekend upon which our entrepreneur would Carpe Diem.

Brace for Impact - 02

Once upon a wandering walk we meandered up roads drab and dreary. Crossing unkept pavement and pristine green lawn this journey felt like from dusk through to dawn. At dad's suggestion, we all need to get fit so a stroll to the park would do a good bit. Dog on his leash was quite eager to go, I would drag his canine butt home. Swings and slides and a carousel the park are frequented rather well, the paint worn away from regular play a clear tell. Not bothering with the noise of suburban places, autistic children enjoy the sounds of wide open spaces, that's why we go to the parks and other such places. Two passing near miss collision upon notice, their smartphones in hand distracting their focus. Oh what fun to reach home at dusk, parents exhausted from the marathon march. Then again who really needs a reason to visit the park.

When upon a windy day we tried to fly our kites away. Turns out you see, flying a kite requires several advanced degrees. From understanding the engineered assembly, thermodynamics and meteorological applicability and the inconsiderate lack of printed instructions in Chinese of which little Ling-Ling doesn't consider when packaging and processing these cheaply made products being shipped worldwide by monster corporations making billions in change while poor Ling-Ling sweats it out in some labour forced workshop for less than 3 cents a day. Modern single string store bought kites have more commercial value than recreational. But it was fun, mostly. Our special needs kid awkwardly tried to make friend with the other children playing the park, sometimes extrovert enthusiasm leaves him in the dark. He did what he could but kite flying requires articulate skills and when the gusts low to disrupt the airflow our buddy loses his enthusiastic glow. This is where dad steps aside, noticing buddy sitting alone with his sighs. Sitting on the bench alongside, pausing for a small sigh. I ask ‘are you okay bud?’

Taking a knee so we can see eye to eye, something autistic children don't have a fondness for, I read the entire soliloquy in one glance; dad I'm fine but we've had our fun, the sun is now hot and outside time is done. I'd like a drink of water if you don't mind and dad, thanks for the effort I appreciate in kind. 

‘Cool,’ I said, ‘time to go, I'm also thirty from trying to fly kites don't you know.’ I called the troops, rallied them all, relayed instructions, home time for all. This is what a good day looks like for our special needs family, mom receives a hug from her special little boy, dad takes a knee.

R and R is key you see, routine and repeat is what I mean. ‘Enough Dr Seuss, this isn't a story,’ my wife resetting our conversation, my thoughts sometimes meander. I interrupted his moment of play, part of the routine he repeats every day. 15h30 he plays alone, his decompress time when he gets home. I thought to question all the fuss but quickly remembered he rides home on the school bus which is more than an hour each day. You're usually working at that time of day, what you do for my paycheck is all work and no play. Being at home sick with your ills resest the Autistic watch Netflix and chill. The goes as follows steps one through three, arrive home to pee, eat sandwiches, play. I interrupted step three by accident, it takes twenty minutes to reset, go back one space. Another round of sandwich.

Brace for impact - 01

Raising a child with autism is the equivalent to front line combat. Well no shit there whomever shared the obvious pearl of wisdom with the internet, I applaud your insight and genius. I've also come to learn children with autism probably invented sarcasm. Having never been to war, not a real one thankfully, I'm no expert in modern day combat methodology or where exactly anyone stands on which square of the chess board when it comes to the human rights charter or rules of engagement. My interest is military history, my family lineage served in WWI and WWII, lest we forget and my only preparedness for engagement with opposition of autism was raising my now young adult ADHD daughter, dear God was that hell on earth for someone as pigheaded and foolish enough as me to repeat every damn mistake imaginable and The Art of War by Sun Tzu, worth a read when you have a moment. Just like serving in the Marine Corp you need to be ready for absolutely anything all the time because you will hit a roadside IED when trying to figure out flavour of Prime drink is the preferred choice while the shopping equivalent of the opening scene of Final Destination 2 unfolds behind you at the supermarket check-out. You will take multiple headshots from random snipers at dinner time, homework time, anytime simply because an indecisive impulse decided to mess with your universe. You will be pushed to the utmost limits of inhuman psychological torture because spaghetti and macaroni are two different food things and cannot be eaten for dinner on days ending in Y. Autistic blowouts aren't pretty, then neither is war, should you the brave mature adult survive the Blitzkrieg before breakfast your parental general issue kit will include an infinite supply of patience you can use in very limited quantities for short amounts of time, this is your first line defense. You will master stealth, go for hours of random walks, endure endless conversation and unrelenting questions about absolutely everything. You will break down, you will succumb to frustration, you will cry because you will fail but you will learn.

I haven't learned much in nine years, yes folks I'm an idiot with mouth writing checks my ass can't cash. The internet fails to share a lot, Google is not your alley, it will betray your fragile confidence. I have broken down, I have cried, I have failed and I sought help, drugs are helpful to have in your arsenal. Taking a moment to reflect that I am mastering my breathing techniques while l my emotional dulla is trying to enhance my calm and I'm reading Sun Tzu again, having calmed my inner turmoil to observe autistic children like ogres have layers.

Beneath the layers of obscenities, indignation, crotch shots and Yoko Ono screaming sessions I find a sharp wit nine year old boy with a heart of gold, a passion for motorcycles and laying the smackdown on dad's unsuspecting candy-ass. Not to mention his passion for cooking and mild admiration of Gordan fucking Ramsey. That's my boy who explained to his granny the necessity for frequent repetition of curse words and then explained to his other granny the practical exercise to closing the barn after the horse has bolted prevents the other horses from bolting too. It's worth mentioning both instances were the result of repeated flatulence. You, the mature adult will find all fart jokes funny while keeping your serious composure after your kid went dropping a rip-shit-tear-arse in front of the butcher's counter of your local supermarket with near nuclear ferocity is no laughing matter for the poor unfortunate souls desperately gasping for life nourishing air as they reconsider vegetarian living.

I have admitted defeat, surrendered to the Armada, laid down my arms at the feet of Caesar and I too was sent to prison by a military court for a crime I did commit whereas my wife deserves the Victoria Cross. Commanding a special needs family requires strategic precision, unshakeable fortitude, unwavering determination, true grit and Shaolin inner peace to resist the urge to drop a Jericho missile on my dumb ass because I'm not helping the situation by trying to help the situation by not listening to her instructions because I'm playing verbal Russian roulette with an angry wrestling midget. Cock shot!

There you have it, the right stuff, your limited edition G.I. Joe Decoder Ring, none of the Google broad spectrum, feel good, cure all self help scrolling. My sympathy to the parents sharing foxholes keeping their heads down during heavy shelling the internet cannot prepare you for those road trip skirmishes. Remain calm soldier, practice your breathing and resist the urge to deport your offspring to North Korea. Then again when all else fails.

If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them....maybe you can hire The A-Team.

Homesteading - 01

Homesteading: the farming lite lifestyle where you work excessively hard at growing broke while disapproving the secular work you are shackled unto because life is expensive and the bills don't pay themselves. You would think after twenty something years in Information Technology, the only career comparable to active military service, you think I'd be tougher than the heel of Chuck Norris’ boot. Closer to borderline WTF, the latest complaint afflicting the digital age. Winding down a mediocre IT career to start up homesteading in South Africa during a general global downturn while raising special needs children on a single secular income. Isn't it ironic?

I suppose somewhere in my childhood life plan this was my John Conner transition. Going off grid to establish sustainable living with the rest of the humans patiently waiting for Judgement Day, the rise of the machines so I can put all those years of knowledge and experience to stopping the terminators. Here's hoping blog posts survive for us to continue to spread the message. A better quality of people for a better quality of life. Society is doomed. Any redeemable qualities of the human race are quickly diminishing with the shrinking old school analogue freedom being pushed out by the increased intrusion of millennials' technology dependencies on the coming AI. The worst of all third world living reside in Africa, the absolute worst congregate at the southern tip of the continent. I know this because I live in South Africa. Most of the global population doesn't know this, that is unfortunate but of the few who do know, really know, Elon Musk knows. Social media compares him to Hitler when they should compare him to Thanos. A single snap and half of Earth's population land on Mars. My opinion of disdain for the repugnant behavior of people is considered dramatic, exaggerated, unfair and broad swept. Mere observation of the world around me and while some people fight for whatever good might remain in the world the opposed masses continue to exercise despicable human behavior. Their deplorable acts gladly celebrated online. Shame on everyone. South Africa thrives on cock and booze because the country has more liquor stores than schools. Government is a failed state because they are an organization of lie, cheat and steal deliberately keeping the people distracted from their evil with the confusion between civil freedom and utter lawlessness by enabling and facilitating the cock and booze irresponsible mentality. Uneducated people intoxicated, impoverished and pregnant continue to feed the machine of oppression. I ventured into the dangerous unknown of an egg impoverished society on month end Saturday to service the technology dependences of the millennials. It was terrible, I instantly became the focus for animosity which develops in unnecessary conflicts. In my experience as a professional the work gets done because the people don't matter, not understand. I've officially learned how to say “fuck you” in all eleven official languages of South Africa. Still could be worse, not really this is Africa, the worst of the worst. I've learned a few other Africanisms. Always in a rush, never in a hurry is the only African proverb. From there life holds no value with a per second prepaid philosophy of lie, cheat and steal. Arguably the entire African third world is misrepresented to the global community and misunderstood because of it. I'm moving on; the government is evil, nobody really gives a shit and maybe I'll wake up one morning to find the shit show over and the DA finally in charge. Money is the colour of racism, remember that next time a friendly face of the Frontline work force helps you because pushing them to perform is a despicable corporate syndicate hell-bent on maximum profit at the sacrifice of good folk trying to make the world a little less crappy instead of coercing consumers to spend more and get less. Complaining is exhausting and my rising cortisol levels are scaring the grim reaper. Enough of the rat race, the digital age be damned, we're going off grid homesteading. That was thirteen years ago. So how has homesteading been treating you?

I've shared trials and tribulations of starting with pigs, dealing with bat shit crazy neighbors, moving onto vegetable production, dealing with runaway fires; again the bat shit crazy neighbors, buying a goat, starting our duck and chicken production, investing a lot of money only to suffer losses from a devastating power failure; other bat shit crazy neighbors and the government endorsed load shedding. I've put most of that behind me. Our ducks and chickens are healthy,  happy, loveable and delicious when we decide to butcher for our freezer. Our vegetable garden needs some attention before winter and our fruit trees have more surprises than our VAT increase. That's pretty much where we are; raising animals, picking plant things. Passionate, exhausted, slightly demotivated but extremely optimistic and taking it each day as it comes. We're homesteading, we're Nuckfuts.

Homesteading - 00 - Slaughterhouse (a reboot trilogy)

In a time when really bad franchise reboots were systematically destroying cinema faster than Disney could ruin their own franchises with reboots nobody wants comes a film reboot trilogy nobody wants. Rated R

SLAUGHTERHOUSE.

The butcher descends upon a chicken farm to take the heads clean and entrails bloody. No bird is left standing, unable to stop the blood fest, all poultry must die. It will be a blood fest, man has to eat.

SLAUGHTERHOUSE 2 : BLOOD FEST

Our machete wielding butcher returns to the chicken farm to claim the heads of the surviving flock, it was a sizeable flock. Slaughter resumes to leave unsuspecting onlookers traumatized and peckish.

SLAUGHTERHOUSE 3 : DEAD RECKONING 

The butcher sensing an onset of fatigue must finish this slaughter. Bodies burned, bodies buried. Freezers filled in the final installment of the bloodiest chicken slaughter of the month. Some survive while the tired butcher slumbers.

The Elder Goth - To the Multiple of Twelve

Prepare to complete homework for the duration of your life, especially when your chosen task is passing the knowledge on to younger impressionable minds. I am incapable of teaching anything, I suppose it's in best interest of the universe. Generally mathematics is a foreign language to me and like a tourist stumbling into non tourist corners of foreign countries I know enough to see me through without serious casualty. This particular go around was Multiplication. Eleven and twelve tables each to the twelfth value memorized fluently I grade school. As an adult you come to realize Multiplication holds its own in daily economics, in South Africa under British rule the currency denominations went to twelve when shillings were popular during the reign of King George as was the metric system standard favoured over the imperial system standard. As a kid I often wondered why this was and who made it so, trying to instill in my nine year old brain the need to know twelve times twelve equals one hundred and forty four because an adult said so was frustrating enough to infuriating levels of rebellious angst I committed to memory the cube root value of 6461 is 9 simply because my Casio digital calculator said so. My question remains, why do South African scholars still learn the eleven and twelve Multiplication tables when the currency is denominated to the value of ten and we measure in using the units of Celsius, meters and grams?

The conversion is no longer required.

The Elder Goth - Word of Curse

Speak not the word of curse or ye shall call forth the fates of doom. I received a classic education in Africa, thank you colonization for bring civilization to the savage wilderness. Unfortunately the digital age decided to bastardise written and spoken communication to gift us with Grammarly,  the official idiot decoder ring. Recently a colleague shared their concerns about the explicit language use on a WhatsApp group chat for, as everyone on the group were informed, idiot is a curse word according to the Grammarly decoder ring update of 2025. Sometimes I wish I was making this up but none on my works of fantasy are deeply creative, Netflix want the series right, somebody call Beyoncé for the lead.

I asked my buddy Google about this.

Hey Google, is the word idiot a curse word?

It is an insult—it means “stupid person”—but it is not offensive enough to be on the list of taboo words. That is, it is not vulgar or profane. For a word to qualify as a swear word, it must have the potential to offend, crossing a cultural line into taboo territory. As a general rule, swear words originate from taboo subjects. This is pretty logical. The topic is off-limits, so the related words aren't meant to be spoken either. The terms idiot, imbecile, moron, and their derivatives were formerly used as technical descriptors in medical, educational, and regulatory contexts. These uses were broadly rejected by the close of the 20th century and are now considered offensive but not words of curse.

Thank you Google. I'll tell what are words of curse; the want of understanding. Having exhausted my good buddy Google I turned to myself for insight. I asked myself, self what other words in Africa are misconstrued by want of understanding?

Irony. There is no word in the languages of Africa for Irony. People simply don't understand it because they don't know it.

Accountabilty. There is not a politician in Africa capable of spelling the word, Accountabilty is hard.

Sarcasm. The want of understanding is often perceived as offensive insult, thus a word of curse.

Common sense. No I'm joking, even idiots have common sense...

The Elder Goth - Of Hare and Fowl

There are certain inalienable truths our species cannot separate from. 

Chapter One:

Paragraph One.

The New Johannesburg.

In the year 2025 Donald Trump, president of the United States of America appoints Elon Musk, the South African billionaire behind SpaceX as a special presidential advisory to the Trump administration. By special presidential order all South African Afrikaaners facing persecution under the ANC government land reappropriation with compensation are granted refugee status in the USA. The California fires of late 2024 cleared the land, we'll circle back to it. Musk, as the founding member of The Doge offers financial incentives to ordinary people for a multitude of reasons including his SpaceX mission to Mars. The temporary shutdown of TikTok services in the United States, unrelated but assuming this is just a test  the disruption in se4vice caused nationwide panic for the brief period. Musk too ventured to shut off the X platform, again this is just a test. The wheels in my mind are turning over these random events, trying for the potential connections without treading too far into conspiracy theories. I envision a scenario of exchange. The Afrikaaners seeking passage west are to bring with them a piece of brick and mortar of the city of Johannesburg. They are travel west to California. They place each piece in exact replica, Essentially rebuilding Johannesburg in America. Some might suggest...

Paragraph Two.

The Cult of Common Sense.

In digital we trust, dependency a must. Society has become a strange landscape of virtual unpleasantness. The separation of civilization is no longer gods or clods, the separation is social media popularity. Society is doom unless you are a devote follower of the many mindless influencers spouting their endless drivel of content to garner those valuable like, share, subscribe and comment tokens to feed the ai algorithm gatekeepers. Going offline is heresy, I'm sure a cyber court will be established to prosecute those regular offenders serving time in Facebook jail for offending the social media secret order. The digital age has altered the mindset of the human race. A mindset I choose not to practice. A practice that will exile you to the furtherest fringes of the known universe. Prepare to be judged.

Paragraph Three.

Do Clowns Taste Funny to Cannibals.

When cannibalism becomes a thing, just to be clear cannibalism happens when the last steakhouse on earth goes out of business, everyone is fair game. I am of the old guard, child of the Analogue Empire, defender of the faith, old fart to the millennial age. Anyone born from 1970 to 1989 came before the technology. We are Generation X. Anyone born 1990 to 1999 is the Y2K generation, if Neo is the one to save humanity from the Matrix start looking for them in this group. Anyone born 2000 onwards are Millennials, children of the modern age who don't know life without the instant gratification of touch screen technology. I'm not denouncing the sub genres, have your alphabet generation classification but consider these three the main groups, I'm tired of trying to fit somewhere between the niche classification of the 80s timeline. I was born in the 80s, raised in the 80s, love the 80s, wish I could go back to the 80s, the beat decade ever. Why?

Life was simple, curious and fun. I am tired of being overexposed to technology because everything has to be availableeverywhere, all the time, all at once. I was here long before computers, smart phones, social media, the internet and AI. I learned valuable life skills. I was taught to use tools, build things with my hands, work with my immediate environment. I was raised outdoors where I could explore and discover. So much of that is lost to the smart phone zombies and their online addictions. I've long stood opposite to this conformist regime, the arrogant and the ignorant, conspirators to betray common sense, abandon conventional wisdom in service of convenience. I fell for the romance initially, the call of the future, I played the game, learned the nature of the beast. The attraction to machines fades over time, repetition loses all meaning, the mind succumbed to boredom, we have entered the age of failure. Moving forward with the advancement of modern technology that is the responsibility of the Millennials. The machines will outlive me, I'm comfortable with that. I may not agree but this is change and change is inevitable. Each to their own, stupidity is protected by the human rights charter. I'm not here to save anyone, I've shown everyone the real world beyond the Matrix. I'm going as far from technology as practically possible. I've moved on, I no longer desire the future. Out of the game. I think the millennial envy comes from the old guard calling the Millennials out on their crap, as we predicted it back in the day. The modern haters are trapped by their self imposed isolated society of digital introverts wanting a complicated future by doing absolutely nothing original. All our creativity is dead, if I were to guess it died in 2004 with the first iPhone. Society has been on a downward spiral since, extremely well documented failings preserved in ridiculous selfies and that tiktok shit. Some of us took the UNABOM approach. Off grid crackpots with an insane ideology to save the planet, living in balance with the natural world and trying to heal the world so we can make it a better place, for you and for me and the entire human race. When food fails and cannibalism means survival I've got me game plan, I know a few useful things to get me by.

I wonder what plans the pronoun culture know. Do they see more to life beyond the streaming media?

 Do they understand what A.I. represents and how it won't help them?

Do any of them have a five year plan to get by?

Nope.

Should global food security fail during my lifetime I'm turning to cannibalism as the next alternative lifestyle diet plan. I'm dining through the human to answer the curiosity, do clowns taste funny?

Paragraph Four.

The Thanos Scale.

The human race has the natural ability to destroy everything except itself. What if is was a simple snap of the fingers?

How terrible would it be erasing half of all life throughout the known universe?

Thanos presents a compelling argument. People of the modern age are broken. Broken yet functional. Introspection says it's all me, not you. Apologists say it's better to ask forgiveness than permission. Pragmatists agree to throw shit until something sticks. Social media broadcasts successful people are all evil monsters set on global destruction, and they're lizard humanoids. Conspiracy theorists are reliable sources. Google is always correct. History is an opinion. Facts are interpretable because rumours are always true. That is a lot of broken.

Thumbs-up...

That's all I can offer the post mindset. You do you, I'll do me and we'll coexist as humanity. Yet that post mindset reminder finds a way in. I resist the temptation to kill them with puns, kill them with wit, kill them with sarcasm, kill them with kindness and ultimately just kill them. Nope, snap. If I woke up tomorrow with half the human race gone, woo-hoo!

If I woke up tomorrow morning as the last person on Earth I'd smile, take a deep breath and enjoy my cup of coffee. Because:

"We the willing, led by the unknowing, are doing the impossible for the ungrateful. We have done so much, with so little, for so long, we are now qualified to do anything, with nothing.”

Earth needs to cull half of the human population; whether through war, famine, pestilence or death the four horsemen need to up the numbers. Society has become a virus, a virus killing its host. I'm not concerned how the cure works, just that it works. I'm impartial to the selection process, everyone has half chance for survival. I am disheartened by the choice of play the millennial game or die and go away. I think I need to go walkabout.

Paragraph Five.

Another Body.

The following account is inspired by an actual event. Why would the police van be facing the oncoming traffic?

I caught site of the flashing blue and red while merging lanes on the motorway. No signs of tow trucks or slowed traffic to suggest an accident. Wait a minute. There had been an accident. The form draped over with thermal foil lay off the road shoulder, another body. I couldn’t see further than the right hand motionless protruding from beneath the shiny cover. Palm down, fingers relaxed, potential gratuitous violence quietly baking under the thermal cover in the non day sun waiting for the coroner collection.

The Elder Goth - Letters

109 

23/09/2024

I noticed something in South Africa commerce, a strange practice. 

I was shopping at a national retailer recently when upon reaching the cashier I tendered payment in cash. Not unusual but I mostly pay for things electronically. I noticed my change being rounded off to what I conclude is the nearest 0.50 to the total. I know the international standard of rounding off to be the nearest 0.05 to the total. Upon my inquiry the cashier simply shrugged reply of insufficient cash change in their till. Having noticed something I began my observation. Many cashiers at various retailers practice short changing customers paying cash fairly frequently. Some consumers complain, others do not. I tested my theory. Of the ten retailers where I paid cash for my purchases I was short changed four times, forty percent of the time. On the fourth occasion I asked the cashier if it was normal for cashiers to not hold sufficient denominations of change in the registers for cash payments. I was it was normal practice. I asked why that was, I was shrugged off. I further asked if it was acceptable to defraud forty percent of consumers with dishonest practice, withholding change owed is fraud or theft depending on outlook. I was told it's always been done like that and everyone does it that way. When I asked why that is I didn't receive an answer.

251

27/09/2024

An instantaneous nosebleed from the left nostril certainly indicates the onset of Pronoun Tantrum Social Disassociatian. Incurable but only if the left nostril bleeds at least once every other day ending with y. Identification misdiagnosis is trending, your sister is no longer your cousin if their pronoun is not your brother from another mother. Your smart device identifies as sentient as science officially determines thinking as really hard and we shouldn't be thinking so much. An age of everything is made up and the rules no longer matter. Witness society divide itself by I think therefore and I am and you're ignorant, I don't care, whatever...

I certainly hope we break ground on Mars within my lifetime, I can pass in peace having watched Earth breathe a sigh of relief knowing a burden has been lifted, that people rather than pronouns will continue to care for natural balance and living. Let all the digital age crap rebuild version 2.0 on the red planet, away from earth, with nothing to destroy upon arrival. A barren space comparison to their online virtual presence. It's a one way trip, face hug a xenomorph when you land. The analog rebellion.

1306

09/10/2024

Twelve years of formal schooling wasted on me. I am a disappointment to the English speaking world. My appologies to Shakespeare, Yeats, Tolkien and Lovecraft. Please report my abuse on punctuation, my blatant brutality towards adverbs and my inexcusable excess of vocabulary to the Grammer Police. Try me before the Grammarly judicial commity, throw my in stocks, locked, shackled like a man condemned. I face judgement from inferior minds with limited vocation. I refuse to dumb it down for the feeble masses. I was taught by linguists, thespians, passionate protagonists the importance of annunciation, pronunciation and propagation. Were my school books and examination papers not riddled with corrective red pen illustrating my errors?

Death before dishonour, my oath to master the English language, nay shall I break it. 

930

21/10/2024

My dad, bless his soul always told me when it comes to a situation of team dymanic breakdown the fish always rots from the head first. I'm pained by such a breakdown. The team is not the problem, they have their faults but the dynamic functions cohesively. Someone at a Management level is breaking things down. I've seen this play out many times, the ambitious outsider determined to make their mark in the big leagues overshoots trying to make good on overhyped mediocre abilities. A team weathers the storm. It will pass, sometimes you stay and other times you move on. Always go with a clear conscience. When I quietly reflect on these matters I'm again drawn into battle. Fight those standing as my adversary. Stand up when required, oppose injustices, accept your own accountability. Do the right thing. I consider the actions of those I see in opposition to me, are they decent folk?

I think of what pains me most, does it pain them?

When small children cry, it pains my heart. When animals suffer, it pains my spirit. 

What then is required when your opponent has lost their moral compass?

The toxicity is overwhelming, it has the ability to drive you into the darkness. Fight it. My generation was taught to fight for what's right because indifference is the greatest evil you will require the fortitude to see this through to the end. Be it in victory or defeat walk away with a clear conscience.

2410

26/10/2024

Who really gives a shit?

According to online resources there is a generation war being fought online and while I disagree with the defined chronological definitiona listed I'm mildly irritated by their pigeon hole classification. I was born on the 80s raised on 80s culture, I was a teenager in the 90s raging against the machine, a young adult of the millennium uncertain about Y2K and today I'm a miserable old fart constantly complaining about the pronouns. I consider myself Generation X and I define anyone born from 2000 a Millennial, how y'all sub divide the generations is your business. I believe the global shit show started in 2005 when Apple put an iPhone on everyone's pocket and Zuckerberg installed Facebook on all of them. The Generation War had began. I'll simplify things; society is divided into two groups, those born before the creation of Google and those born after the creation of Google. I'm the generation before Google, before smartphone convenience, before digital garbage and before social media. But who really gives a shit?

3110

01/11/2024

Look after yourself.

11

28/11/2024

While driving behind a slow moving combine harvester on a country road I was listening to a podcast about the Gore / Bush presidential election of 2000 when two things came to mind.

The countryside is quite beautiful when I take the time to admire it. This got me thinking about the farrmers in England are heroes. In fact farmers everywhere are the unsung, unappreciated, unassuming heroes dedicated to keeping the world going. Small holdings, large commercial, backyard homesteading, all of it matters.

The other being I don't really care for American politics or the podcast discussing it.