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[dynamictreesolutions-au]

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Prey 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, includes violence, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: while out on a hunt, you become the hunted.

Characters: Kraven the Hunter (viking AU)

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

Voices stir in the air with the taste of salt. The coast isn’t far. It hardly matters where you are. You know it’s far from your mother’s hovel. What’s more, you are trapped. Bound and draped over this man’s shoulder like a slain deer. 

You writhe, trying to kick free of his grasp. He keeps his arm firmly hooked around your legs. In response to your struggle, he strikes your haunch. You grumble and exhale against his hide jacket. From his other shoulder, a bunch of rabbit dangle; the ones he stole from your traps. 

He is silent still. He grunts but it is not angry. It is dulcet, as if he is amused. 

You wiggle again, trying to see past him as the murmur grows louder. There are others near. The mulch of dirt beneath boots and the stakes set between lengths of rope suggest a camp. A figure approach but you are blinded by the back of your captor. 

“We discovered scavengers near the forest. They have been dispatched.” The man informs the one who carries you. A similar grumble meets the news. “They are rampant in these parts.” 

Yet another dull rumble. He proceeds past the other with undaunted steps. By your measure, he is deferred to, if not a leader, at least a feared warrior. 

You turn your head this way and that. Pits burn beneath boiling pots or simply amid the cluster of bodies whetting blade or carving bone. A whole horde of warriors like the one who ensnared you. They glance back at you and several give pause as they linger. 

There are women too but they pay little mind. They are dressed as the men are, sat beside shield and blade. You bend your knees in an attempt to ram them into the man’s ribs. You know it would do little to truly free you but as fate closes in, so too does desperation. 

On and on. Men look over and dip their heads or avert their gaze. Their reactions all but assure you of the sort of beast that carries you. 

He bends and enters a tent behind a pit. In an instant, you are swung up and back. You land on the ground so hard the air rushes from your chest. You wheeze as the man snickers. You cough and roll onto your side. Your fingers tingle from the tight binding around your wrist and your legs chafe in your leggings. 

He moves around you to sit on his pack. You watch him unsling the rabbits and unsheath a short blade from his belt. He diligently begins to skin his stolen game. For a moment, you wonder if you should be next. 

Silently, he carries on in his task until he is done. The prepared hare are laid in a wide wooden bowl. He stands and wipes the knife on his jacket. He comes close and squats as he presses the tip to his calloused finger. 

You stare at the knife then look at him. You lift your head and stare him down. He chuckles and slips the knife back into its sheath. 

He reaches for you and you scowl. He touches your cheek, his roughened fingertips brushing down to your chin. He cups his hand under your jaw and squeezes firmly. He makes you sit up as he examines you. He turns your head this way, then the other. 

He lets go and flips his hand. He brings his other up to pull apart the collar of your tunic. He clucks in his throat and yanks until the laces snap. You tense and try to shake him off as he stretches the fabric to look past it. He moves one hand to fondle you. He grunts as you do the same and stomp your feet towards him. 

He makes a noise between his teeth and taps your cheek then points in your face. You still. He feels along your chest and your torso. He kneads your stomach and frames your waist. You growl and gnash your teeth. He shoves his hand between your legs and hums. You twitch. 

“Healthy,” he appraises. The first word he speaks. His voice is silty like the shores. His blue grey eyes meet your glare and he smirks. “Could eat.” 

You’re not sure what he means. If you could do with a good meal or he could. He flutters his fingers before drawing away. He goes back to the bowl of rabbits and lifts it. He leaves, knowing you can’t do the same. 

You gulp. There’s no mistake to be made. It’s certain why you are here. You are game too but your end is not so swift as the hare. 

The warm of his hand clings between your legs. It makes you shudder. You look down at the slack tunic. Your heart pounds against your ribs. He felt that too. 

You curl your fingers but not all the way. The straps are too tight. Your legs ache from the friction between them and your spine throbs rigidly. You shift up onto your knees and wobble. You try to shuffle forward on knee and toe. You fall over with a thump and a groan. 

The man laughs from outside. You know is at your expense, that he can hear you through the hide walls. It is all futile, he knows it as well as you. But it isn’t funny to you. It is terrifying. 

You lay on the floor, beside the disposed pile of fur. You smell the blood. You close your eyes and shudder. You are not used to being the one caught in a trap. 

[tinydefector]

IRON GIANT 2

Optimus prime x human

Warnings: none.

Word count: 2.3k

Is this becoming one of my favourite pieces? Yes, it is. So enjoy more of the dadimus agender.

Optimus prime Masterlist

1

111

__________

It's nearly a week later when the sound of little footsteps echo through the forest again. Optimus had taken to using the cave as a sanctuary, he was away from people, war and causing anymore harm; it was his peaceful spot to coexist with the life of earth. He had taken to watching his step a lot more. 

"Oppy!, Oppy!" The voice of the child calls out in the forest from different areas of the small meadow. Optimus onlined his optics slowly as familiar foot fall neared, accompanied by an eager call he had not expected to hear again so soon. Unfurling from his rest against the cave wall, he peered out into the dappled forest light just in time to see the youngling break into the clearing, they continued calling out. 

"Here, little spark," he rumbled gently, not wishing to startle. His chassis gave a rumble of quiet amusement as they raced over to grasp a digit in childish enthusiasm, peering up at him through delicate facial features wrought only for joy and new discovery. 

"Oppy! I knew I'd find you!" they declared proudly, patting his hand. Pars working, I come to play! You wanna see berris? I picked pretty colours for you!" Bright optics shone with innocent invitation, as if this massive metal being was not so different from the little one smiling up at him. 

Settling back with a faint creak, Optimus regarded them fondly. "I would be honoured to see your findings, little one." The child slowly rummages through their pockets pulling out crumpled flowers, berries, rocks and dirt, eagerly showing it to the Large bot who's hand they sit on. "Oh look, look! I drew this for you!" They exclaimed as they pulled out a drawing. It's a crude yet adorable child drawing of Optimus. "It's You!" They state proudly.

Optimus gingerly accepted the well-worn offering, optics crinkling with gentle humour and affection as he examined the unmistakably drawing of himself, however simplified.

"You have quite the artistic talent, little spark," he rumbled warmly, carefully stowing the drawing within his chassis to keep safe. "I shall treasure this." 

As they continued showing findings, however, his sensors pinged softly, noting the absence of their guardian. Brightening optics subtly scanned the trees, playing drones searching for any signs of the guardian... but none appeared. 

A faint thread of concern wove through his field. "Little one, where did you leave your carrier today?" he asked gently after a moment. "Oh, oh! Pars at home. Just the other side of the meadow!," another toothy grin spreads across their face. 

Optimus is more worried about the young child wandering off without their guardians knowledge, he slowly walks out into the sunlight with them in his hand. anxiety rising though his systems. They were too young yet to wander so freely alone in the forest unguided. 

Stepping carefully out into the dappled sunlight, he turned optics down to them and rumbled in his gentlest tones, "It is not safe for you to wander away from their carrier's care, little one. What if you stumbled upon dangers I was not near to help?." His voice is ever soft as he talks to them.  Shifting his hand, he lifted them up to optic level and tapped their tiny nose softly with a digit. "Let us return you home swiftly, less your guardian finds you missing." striding with utmost care and speed towards where he remembered the meadow lay. 

A set of eyes flicker up as they hear their loud steps, the crunching of branches and the loud voice of their child. They look up from working in a garden, planting vegetables. They look up worried for a second before seeing their child with the large red and blue robot. "Baby I told you, no going into the meadows without me!" They call out as they stand and begin walking towards Optimus. They are covered in a mix of soil, mulch and fertiliser. 

Optimus bowed his helm apologetically as the youngling's carrier approached with concern clear upon their features. Stopping a respectful distance away, he carefully lowered his hand and helped the little one slide to the ground between them. 

"Your child came to my shelter with gifts of drawings, yet when seeking their guardian’s presence I discovered them wandering alone and brought them swiftly back." He explains. 

They slowly check their child as they pull their cheek lightly. "No wandering without me baby, I mean it, what would have happened if Optimus wasn't there and you got hurt?" They ask the child. The little one just smiles at them without a care or worry. "Thank you Optimus, sorry they seem to have a skill with disappearing and finding trouble" they state with a sigh.

Optimus vented quietly, field radiating amusement. "No apology is needed," he rumbled gently. Turning down to the child now regarding him with less enthusiasm, he continued in a rumble barely louder than a murmur but meant only for young audials, "Your carrier speaks wisdom, little one. These forests hold wonders, but also perils for ones as small as you. Promise you'll not stray from home again, hmm?."

Rising once more to his full height, though still kneeling, he paused watching them together, there was something about this that made his spark ache. "Go have a bath bub" they state to their child giving them a quick kiss to the forehead. “ahhh par you are stinky!” They squeal and take off running into the house. "Bath!, bath!, bath!" They yell in excitement. It makes their parent sigh with a shake of their head. "Don't use all the Hot water!" They yell out.

Optimus' optics crinkled with gentle amusement as the child raced off squealing. his plating shifted in a subtle shrug. "Younglings possess a boundless energy and curiosity it appears," he rumbled. 

They slowly try wiping dirt off their face. "Can I get you anything, I'm not sure if you eat or drink but is there anything I can get you?"

"You know you don't have to stay in that cave, you're more than welcome to stay in the barn if you wish" they hum with a smile. For a moment Optimus was surprised by the thoughtful offer, not used to such easy generosity. His optics softened earnestly even as his sensors subtly noted details of the little homestead and its assorted life - taking in the moment watching the small farmhouse and barn, a small collection of many animals linger on the property.

"You are too kind," he rumbled gratefully. Although space within his plating felt... empty, lately, in ways repair and recharge did not mend. He lingers watching as They head inside, helping their child wash up. “ You know one of these days you're gonna get yourself in real trouble you know that kiddo” They huff as they scrub their back. Small giggles leave the child as they throw bubbles back. “But Oppy was out there I wanted to say hi!” They state. 

“and what would happen if he wasn't there, baby. You could have gotten hurt” they sigh. Slowly drying their kid off before letting them race around the house. Making dinner and getting them set for the night is a chore in itself. It's only when the phone rings do they let out a tired sigh, answering it. 

 "Yea, yea I can do that Murphy, I'll be in, in 30 just let me get dressed and put my kid to bed" they state. After the phone call they move around getting dressed quickly. "Baby I've gotta go to work, remember the rules about what to do if I'm not home?" They ask the child. "Mmhmm! I stay inside, lock the doors, don't answer for anyone but you, Par! Can Oppy stay and watch me please?" the little one asks with the biggest pleading eyes, still towelling off damp hair. "Please par? I promise to be good, and not wander, if Oppy watches till your home?" 

"I will ask him but you need to go to bed soon it's getting late" they state while pressing another kiss to their forehead. They are quickly out the door. "Sorry I've got to go to work, would you mind just watching them to make sure they don't wander" they ask softly to Optimus. As they head out to their car. 

"It is no trouble," he rumbled gently, bowing his massive helm in easy acceptance. Settling just outside where his pedes would not disturb soil, Optimus' optics dimmed in contentment as he slowly sank to sit beside the house. "Oppy, watch a movie?" They ask while moving the TV so Optimus can watch through the window. 

his optics flicker gently toward the tiny gaze regarding him through the transparent barrier. "As you wish, little one," he rumbled softly, dipping his chin in a nod. Adjusting his massive bulk carefully so as not to shake the dwelling's foundation, he folded his pedes aside and rested intake against powerful arms, 

 The starting of the movie, excitedly showing him the Iron Giant. “Look look its you!” they say excitedly while pointing to the metal man on screen. " He comes from space just like you!" They state excitedly. Orion's optics brightened keenly as the child excitedly guided his attention to images upon the screen, quickly parsing scenarios and recognizing similarities between fictional depiction and aspects of his own frame and past. 

"Fascinating," he rumbled softly. Looking down with a gentle tilt of helm to meet shining eyes gazing up at him in awe, his field pulsed with warmth. "It would seem he and i are in similar situations." 

Turning audio receptors attentively back to the story unfolding, great hands carefully gathered tiny one closer within his palm, sheltering them in one massive digit as together they watched adventures of the unlikely bond between alien visitor and human child unfold. 

As the movie plays on they continue explaining things to Optimus. The large bot focuses in as the movie shows a little boy saving the large bot from a power plant and how their friendship slowly evolves. It makes him see the parallel with his own situation. As it gets to the scene with the Deer, it makes Optimus' spark ache, remembering what had happened only a week ago when he had stepped on a deer. “ Ah I see why you refer to me as the Iron Giant” he states ever so softly.  Within some time the child is asleep on the couch. Optimus can feel the rain clouds rolling in and decides it's time to retreat into the barn for the night. Transforming down into his alt mode, systems powered down into minimal low-energy mode as the rains began. The little one had drifted into recharge as intended, and his duty for now was fulfilled.

It's a peaceful night until the thunder starts. Cries break through the air. Setting Optimus fuel lines a blaze with true terror hearing the child crying out.

Optimus systems roared instantly back to full alert status at the first crack of thunder and subsequent crying, Transforming smoothly and silently into root mode once more, he began querying sensors for signs of harm - but quickly pinpointed the source as the small one rightfully frightened by nature's fury. The small patterns of foot fall along the wet ground echo's as they run into the barn, meeting his blue optics in fear. 

 "Little one, it is alright. Its only the sky." Holding out palm upturned, 

"It's scary, it's after me!" They cry out.A pang of sorrow shot through Optimus core at the terror in those tiny words, and he responded without pause - tiny arms had barely reached him before he folded massive digits as gently as his construction allowed around them, lifting and tucking them close to his broad chestplate in a cradling hold.

"Shh, little one," he murmured, the steadfast thrum of his own mighty spark resonating against their frame. "The thunder cannot harm you, I promise." he leaned carefully back against the barn walls, free hand coming up to form a shelter around them as the storm raged on outside. "Listen to my sparkbeat," he whispered through the noise, They pull their stuffy and blanket closer. Pressing themself into Optimus’ chest flinching every time the loud thunder echoes in the distance. Snuggling closer to him hoping he will chase away the monster in the storm.

Optimus core ached anew at each flinch of tiny form against his own, Curving lithe digits ever-so-carefully around the little one and their favoured possessions, he cradled them close as any carrier would. 

 "Listen to my pulse, little spark," he murmured softly between cracks above, voice a low, calm anchor in the chaos. "No monster dares face a Prime. I have you." Dipping his helm, Optimus brushed a tender kiss of metal against their head, They eventually fell back asleep snuggled against his form. He powers back down. Locking his systems so that no harm would come to them by him moving in recharge.

When dawn's light broke anew over gentle fields, his core pulsed gratitude for the reminder that life went ever on, even in darkness' wake. And as tiny optics fluttered open to his calm regard once more, he knew true purpose and solace would await wherever innocence required shelter and guardians stood watch.

It's very early morning when they finally arrive home, drained as the head towards the door keys in hand. When they go to open the door only to discover it's unlocked. Cold fear runs through their veins, they move towards the barn with speed. Optimus systems powered alertly at the barn door's opening, yet he remained as still as possible, not wishing to disturb the little one's recharge. Lifting weary optics, A digit raised gently to his intake. “shhhh” he calls out softly. 

_________

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[headspace-hotel]

i learn a staggering amount of things just being in nature and paying attention to what's going on. Things that are obvious are seldom written down so they can be found where people look. I get stressed out that people don't know things. It's dire that they have to be taught at all.

I'm watching everything prepare for winter. Well, not watching. I'm gathering seeds, preparing beds, labeling seed packets. The leaves are falling, the flowers are dying back.

I was surprised to see how long seeds will just hang out on withered plants, instead of being eaten or falling or blowing away. Acorns and nuts cover the forest floor. Hackberries cling to trees throughout winter. Seeds are produced in wild abundance.

It's difficult not to assign purpose to these things—the plants produce seeds and nuts so the birds and animals don't go hungry. It's discouraged to view nature as having some kind of purposeful agency.

The leaves cover the ground now in deep drifts. I learned that moths and butterflies sleep through winter in fallen leaves.

How did I not know that? How was this not important enough to be taught?

Homeowners seem to think of leaves as a nuisance. It's common practice to rake them into piles and burn them or bag them up to be sent to landfills. This is horrifyingly wasteful, on top of destroying the insects that hibernate in them. Fallen leaves are pure gold, a vital source of nourishment and insulation for the soil. Rotting leaves mulch and fertilize the forest floor.

Fallen leaves don't just nourish, they protect. I found the smaller of my tree seedlings covered by a thick layer of fallen leaves, shielded from an early frost. Farmer Family Friend advises mulching the baby trees for the winter to keep them safe from the extremes of the cold.

They are a near-perfect insulating and mulching material, but I rarely see people using them as such. "Use fallen leaves as mulch" is a Gardening Hack found on Pinterest, a novel trick.

It is discouraged to assign motive and purpose to natural processes, but it is devastating to accept the alternative—that something an organism does isn't "for" a purpose except the organism's own survival. Leaves fall because they can't withstand the winter cold, and it is more economical to enter a period of dormancy. We know this.

And yet. The horrors it has caused, for people to decide that the leaves are not for anything, that they only make a mess and can be burned or sent to a landfill (!!). We have to spread memes online telling everyone to leave alone their fallen leaves, because it's not common knowledge that the butterflies need them.

The harsh, competitive thinking about nature stops people from thinking of nature as the intricate system it is.

I was afraid that the frost last night killed my tiny tulip poplar. I found it safe and unharmed, covered by leaves blown all the way from the neighbor's yard—leaves from a mature tulip poplar tree, shielding the small one. I keep telling myself not to be fanciful, but my heart aches with something indescribable.

[landclearingvirginia]

The Advantages of Hiring Professional Underbrush Clearing Services in Keller, Virginia

Keller, Virginia, with its charming historic district and picturesque waterfront setting, offers residents a beautiful place to call home. However, maintaining a property can be challenging, especially when overgrown underbrush becomes a concern. This is where professional underbrush clearing services come in.

Underbrush refers to the layer of shrubs, saplings, and woody vines that grow beneath the tree canopy. While it can provide habitat for wildlife, unchecked underbrush growth can lead to a number of problems for Keller, Virginia homeowners. Here’s why partnering with a professional underbrush clearing service is a wise decision:

Enhanced Safety and Property Value

Overgrown underbrush creates a dense, flammable environment. Leaves, twigs, and dead branches become prime fuel for wildfires, especially during Virginia’s dry seasons. Professional underbrush clearing services remove this fire hazard, creating a safer zone around your property. Additionally, a well-maintained landscape with controlled undergrowth increases your curb appeal and property value.

Improved Aesthetics and Visibility

Dense undergrowth can block sunlight and views, making your property feel dark and cramped. Professional underbrush clearing allows for better light penetration, creating a more open and inviting space. Additionally, improved visibility around your property can deter unwanted pests and make it easier to spot potential hazards.

Reduced Risk of Pest Infestation

Overgrown underbrush provides a haven for ticks, mosquitoes, and other insects. These pests can not only be a nuisance but also pose health risks. By removing underbrush, you eliminate hiding spots and breeding grounds for these unwanted visitors, making your yard a safer and more enjoyable place to spend time.

Disease and Insect Control

Dense underbrush can create a microclimate that promotes the spread of disease amongst desirable trees and plants. Stagnant air and excessive moisture can lead to fungal diseases and insect infestations. Professional underbrush clearing improves air circulation and allows sunlight to reach the forest floor, creating a healthier environment for your desired flora.

Professional Expertise and Equipment

Clearing underbrush can be a physically demanding task, especially on larger properties. Professional underbrush clearing services have the experience and expertise to handle the job efficiently and safely. They also have access to specialized equipment such as brush cutters, chippers, and mulching machines, which make the process faster and more efficient.

Environmentally Friendly Practices

A reputable underbrush clearing service will prioritize environmentally friendly practices. They will often chip or mulch cleared brush, which can then be used for landscaping purposes or returned to the forest floor to decompose and replenish nutrients. This reduces the need for landfill use and promotes a more sustainable approach to property maintenance.

Peace of Mind

Hiring a professional underbrush clearing service allows you to reclaim your weekends and enjoy your property without the burden of a time-consuming and potentially dangerous task. Knowing that your property is safe from fire hazards, pests, and disease provides valuable peace of mind.

Finding the Right Land Clearing Service in Keller, Virginia

Taking the time to find a reputable and qualified underbrush clearing service is crucial. Look for companies that are licensed and insured, have experience working in Keller, Virginia, and prioritize safety and environmental responsibility. Ask for references and read online reviews before making a decision.

By partnering with a professional Underbrush clearing service in Keller, Virginia , homeowners can enjoy a safer, healthier, and more aesthetically pleasing property. The benefits extend beyond immediate gratification, with increased property value, reduced risk of disease and pests, and a more sustainable approach to land management.

[tennesseelandclearing]

Understanding the Cost of Land Clearing in Memphis, Tennessee

Memphis, Tennessee, with its rich history and vibrant culture, is a city on the move. Whether you’re a homeowner planning a backyard renovation or a developer embarking on a new construction project, you might find yourself needing land clearing services. But before you dive into the process, it’s crucial to understand the factors that influence the cost.

Land Clearing Costs: A Breakdown

While providing an exact quote requires an on-site inspection, here’s a breakdown of the key factors that impact land clearing costs in Memphis:

Size of the Land: The most significant factor is the size of the area you want cleared. Prices are typically quoted per acre or per half-acre. Clearing a larger area naturally translates to higher costs.

Type of Vegetation: The type of vegetation on your land significantly impacts the cost. Removing heavy brush and small trees is generally less expensive than clearing land with mature trees with thick root systems. Dense forests with large trees will require specialized equipment and expertise, driving up the price.

Topography: Land with a steep incline or uneven terrain poses logistical challenges and requires additional safety measures. Land clearing companies might need specialized equipment or adjust their approach, leading to higher costs.

Disposal of Debris: The cost of hauling away cleared vegetation can vary depending on the volume and type of debris. Some companies might offer grinding or chipping services to create mulch, which can be used on your property or even offset disposal costs.

Permitting Requirements: Depending on the size and location of your property, you might need permits from the city or county. Factor in the cost of obtaining these permits before finalizing your budget.

Beyond the Basics: Additional Considerations

Accessibility: Limited access to the land clearing site due to narrow roads, power lines, or other obstacles can increase the complexity of the project and require additional planning, potentially impacting the cost.

Time Constraints: Expedited land clearing services often come at a premium. If you have a tight deadline for completing the project, be prepared for a potentially higher quote.

Environmental Concerns: If your property has environmentally sensitive areas or protected trees, land clearing companies might need to take extra precautions. These steps can add to the overall project cost.

Finding the Right Land Clearing Service in Memphis

Now that you understand the key factors influencing cost, it’s time to find reputable land clearing services in Memphis. Here are some tips:

Get multiple quotes: Don’t settle for the first quote you receive. Get estimates from several companies to compare pricing and services offered.

Check qualifications and insurance: Ensure the companies you consider are licensed, bonded, and insured. This protects you in case of accidents or property damage during the clearing process.

Ask about experience: Inquire about the company’s experience with similar projects in the Memphis area. Look for companies with a proven track record of handling projects comparable to yours.

Read reviews and references: Research online reviews and ask the companies for references. Contacting past clients can provide valuable insights into their experience.

Conclusion

By understanding the factors that influence land clearing costs and conducting thorough research, you can make informed decisions when choosing a land clearing service in Memphis. Remember, the cheapest option isn’t always the best. Considerthe company’s experience, qualifications, and safety record to ensure your project is completed efficiently and responsibly.

Taking the Next Step

Ready to get started on your land clearing project in Memphis? Contact reputable land clearing services today to schedule a consultation and receive a free quote. They can assess your specific needs and provide a detailed breakdown of the estimated costs involved. With careful planning and informed decision-making, you can transform your land into a space that meets your vision.

[profbruce]

Mister 1000% ROI

Bruce M Firestone, PhD, and Andrew L Firestone, BA (Econ)

Any time someone offers you investments with returns of 1000% per year, you are right to be skeptical, but this is what Australian economist “Mr 1000%” Andrew Firestone has been working on for a number of years now. He reckons he will be able to present how households can add an equivalent of $60,000 to $70,000 AUD to their annual income with some fairly simple approaches he has studied and researched. These are activities with a very high return on their labor, capital, time and sweat equity inputs. I told him about the tiny house movement philosophy of “less house, more life” and he loved that idea, his tag line is “Better Income – Better Life,” a similar pattern.

But wait, it gets better. Like veg-o-matic, K-tel direct-marketing TV pitchmen of the 1960s whose mantra was, “It slices! It dices!” you pay no income tax on these earnings.

The Veg-o-matic

Huh? How is that even possible?

First, let’s work through the 1000% ROI number then deal with personal tax issues.

Full of Beans Case Study

Some years ago, Andrew purchased a pack of bean seeds for $3.50 that produced 250 grams per week of the sweetest freshest beans you can find anywhere; this went on for nine months in Canberra where he lives with his family[2]. The Canberra area has a relatively dry climate with warm to hot summers and cool winters. Elevation about sea-level is around 580-meters (1,900-feet) and you can see snow in the foothills around the capital city of Australia from time-to-time.

To keep them producing, Andrew staggers his planting. He then harvested seeds from his best producers to use for the next year (this will become important later).

Over the year, his bean yield was around 9 kilograms (nearly 20-pounds), which (as of 2021) retailed at $3.90 per kg in-store or $35.10 for his 9 kg. Now estimating his ROI is simple arithmetic—

ROI = ($35.10 - $3.50)/$3.50 = 903%

So, not quite a 1000% return, but getting close with two other key factors still to consider. It might be useful to note that a quick online search of bean prices today (circa 2024) shows much higher prices per kg for beans, ie, $11[3]! Now that’s inflation for you… And don’t forget—since Andrew’s bean seeds are now free, his ROI is currently infinite.

“But whoa, hold your horses[4],” you say. The above calculation doesn’t factor in the cost of Andrew’s labor, right?

Marble Bust of Homer

That’s true. It doesn’t. But it also doesn’t yet take into account taxes. For Andrew, the labor cost to add would be the income he could otherwise earn. But he is on a fixed salary and picking up a part-time job would be impractical. So, the real alternative is Andrew sitting in front of his TV for nine months instead of experiencing shinrin-yoku (the Japanese term for forest bathing), one could argue that his cost of labor is zero or even negative since gardening can be a positive health event, providing both exercise and mental well-being. Plus, how much work is involved? Very, very little, he informs us.

Practising forest bathing in Japan[6]

When he lived with his family in a small townhome, he was able to sneak his seeds into a tiny and neglected patch out front and just put the water to them; he used a bunch of weeds he removed from the scrubby yard as mulch. In the photos below you will also see a mandarin seedling he put in as well.

Andrew’s sneaky, puncy townhouse microgarden: YUMMY

What about income tax?

Well, the beauty of self-production is you don't pay any. If Andrew could have worked extra hours to buy his beans, he would have to pay income tax on that income before he was allowed to go ahead and spend it. There are a couple of ways to think about tax. Firstly, if he was to go out and earn the extra, he'd lose close to half of that marginal income to taxation, so the beans would really have cost at retail (back in 2021) about $70 in after-tax income[7]. Or if he was just using his regular work income, he would lose on average 25% of that so his beans would have really cost $46.80.

He tells me, he sees this pattern over and over again with home-based production. There are some less good returns, growing watermelons or pumpkins, for instance, but many traditional pastimes such as gardening, sewing, home preserving, brewing, etc will likely hit the 1000% mark.

In fact, Andrew calculates, a household could make the equivalent of $60,000 to $70,000 worth of taxable income (but, in fact, not subject to tax) at home per year doing these sorts of tasks!                  

Gender roles

As far back as the early 1980s, researchers noted that, “Women do two-thirds of the world's working hours but receive only one tenth of the income and own one hundredth of the property[8].”  But this need no longer be the case—traditional crafts are being rediscovered and families are making many of them “team sports.” Things on the following list are now being done by all—

home cooking/baking,

child minding,

dressmaking,

tailoring,

networking/sourcing/bartering[9],

yogurt making,

woodworking[10]/furniture production,

cakemaking,

candle making,

gardening (aka backyard homesteading),

cheese making,

beer brewing,

raising backyard chickens and/or ducks,

planting and harvesting fruit trees,

knitting,

load shifting—adding solar panels with battery storage[11],

clotheslines,

paying off your mortgage as quickly as possible[12],

hunting large game with old trucks in national parks (maybe 😊)

beautifying property with large shrubs/trees/creating a food forest[13]

retrofitting roof insulation where standards are poor[14]

Vertical urban farms

Andrew is also skeptical about the economics of vertical farming (as well as the lack of nutrition in they produce). And he is not alone[15].

He writes—

At the very least, vertical farming has to be direct to consumer but having the word “selling” in there is going to make it tough—all the regulatory issues, packaging, and taxes and other charges will likely kill them. They would have to be like strawberry farms back in the day: Give customers a basket and let them pick their own; the operator just weighs it at the register. But I can't see how that very, very, very expensive capital could ever pay for itself and the maintenance costs on those systems will be extreme. You have mineral rich water flowing through small pipes and pumps; it’ll be a clogging nightmare. You will have major condensation issues and molds will grow plus all sorts of ventilation problems. These can't be magically solved. They’ll need expensive energy and capital systems to deal with it. And in terms of this being “green,” not at all! These systems use steel and glass, and they are hugely energy intensive to make and run. There is no way to make that energy back over their economic lifetime. This is just some feel-good greenwashing.

By the way, you can make super cheap dome greenhouses using plastic sheeting and poly pipes that would have much less environmental impact. But places like Canada and the US Midwest aren’t ever going have economic, full-on heated greenhouses. If they go the cheap poly dome route and get more out of their shoulder seasons (that is, forgetting about December to February periods), they have a shot to make local produce work (better). Residents should simply put a bunch of raised garden beds with domes in their existing backyards over a weekend for something like $100 bucks.

Beautiful Legs Case Study

Andrew went hunting for a nice dining room table—one with actual real wood. Retail prices for this sort of thing were around $2,400 AUD at the time with a manufacturer’s rebate (coupon) available of $300[16] so a net effective price of $2,100. Thinking of proving his point once more about 1000% ROI being widely available but little known, he purchased 2 pairs of steel table legs for $85 and scrounged around for some old wooden planks, which he paid $105 for and set about doing some home woodworking himself. Again, his ROI is simple arithmetic—

pair of steel legs                              $85.00

solid wood planks                           $105.00

total cost          (home-based)        $190.00

retail price                                        $2,100.00

margin                                                $1,910.00

ROI                                                       1005%

E&OE

This did take him a while to complete so you might want to factor that in, but frankly, when returns are likely measured in triple digits or quadruple ones, you can stop measuring.

Bruce M Firestone, bruce@brucemfirestone.com Andrew L Firestone, a.l.firestone@gmail.com

COPYRIGHT, BRUCE M FIRESTONE, OTTAWA CANADA AND ANDREW L FIRESTONE, CANBERRA AUSTRALIA 2024.

+++

[1] Image source, BitBytes - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=93170611.

[2] In a cold northern shelf city like Canada’s Capital City (Ottawa), you would probably get six months and then only if you start your seedlings inside.

[3] For example, check out the price of Miss Melons fresh beans here, https://www.missmelons.com.au/products/beans.

[4] By the way, it was Homer not an American cowboy who first used this expression, Hold your horses—it was in book 23 of the Iliad.

[5] Image source, Originally from en.wikipedia; description page is/was here. Original uploader was JW1805 at en.wikipedia, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2171360.

[6] Image source, Teamsamuraispain - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=43516357.

[7] Bear in mind you don't compare your homegrown product against the cheapest produce available, but rather the freshest and best versions. When looking for crops to grow, probably best to focus on high nutrient and relatively high-cost foods.

[8] Said then President of the Canadian International Development Agency (Marcel Masse) in 1982, https://www.upi.com/Archives/1982/07/06/Women-do-two-thirds-of-the-worlds-working-hours-but/9167394776000/.

[9] Historically, women were (are) balancing out equity across communities and sharing useful information more widely.           For example, a homemaker learns that a neighbor needs to clean out their stables. Next, the homemaker’s life partner helps muck out the stables and, in return, they receive a free load of manure for their backyard homestead garden. This networking/socializing is crucial in a tax-free, bartering-based, local economy...

[10] Think woodworking is one of humanity’s older art forms and that traditional skillsets have been (mostly) developed in the time period covered by recorded history (around 10,000 years)? Not so. Read this article about a recent archaeological discovery in Zambia of a log platform or shelter constructed 476,000 years ago by stone-age people. Some type of hominid accomplished this feat including notching the logs to make a better fit/stronger structure, https://www.bbc.com/news/science-environment-66846772. The BBC article is based on a paper published in the Nature journal, Evidence for the earliest structural use of wood at least 476,000 years ago, https://www.nature.com/articles/s41586-023-06557-9.

[11] Unfortunately, according to a CSIRO study, solar hot water does not produce the desired ROI.

[12] Apparently, paying off your car loan early is not important, probably because cars are, for the most part, a depreciating asset.

[13] Tree planting improves property values by about 6%, provides shade, cooling, and wind protection, as well as fresh air. Combining that with a food forest increases ROI further…

[14] Returns of about 40% for your roof, 20% for walls and 5% for floors.

[15] For example, refer to: Vertical Farming Has Found Its Fatal Flaw, https://www.wired.co.uk/article/vertical-farms-energy-crisis.

[16] Car/boat/RV (caravan)/truck manufacturers have been using this “charade” for a long time. Here’s how it works—their distributors/dealers/shops sell Jane and John a car/boat/RV/caravan/truck/piece of furniture/whatever for $5,000. There is also a separate coupon which promises them a 15% manufacturer’s rebate (ie, $750) later on… Now, Jane and John aren’t rich dudes, so they finance (say) 100% of their purchase with some kind of a buy-now-pay-later lender. The lender sees they paid $5,000 so they lend John and Jane $5,000. But the manufacturer subsequently snail mails a check/cheque to John and Jane or otherwise reimburses them for their coupon in the amount of $750. Presto magic, John and Jane have their new car/boat/RV/caravan/truck/piece of furniture/whatever plus they also have $750 in cash now. What’s interesting about this is that the $750 cash back is not considered income in the hands of John and Jane, so they don’t have to pay any personal income tax on it. For the manufacturer, it’s an allowable expense (reduction in their income) so it too lowers their overall tax burden. Of course, John and Jane are now on the hook for repayment of $5,000 plus interest. But most people, especially young people and entrepreneurs of any age, have very high personal future discount rates so cash-in-hand might look good compared with a future payment plan of some sort.

[rootsoutdoor]

Timber Yards Melbourne is One-stop Solution for Fencing, Decking, and Landscaping, How?

Timber yards in Melbourne are the place where one can find timber for a number of construction requirements for homes or commercial spaces. Reputable timber yards never cause forests to disappear; in contrast, they collect fallen trees to save forests from fire incidents. One can find types of wood in these yards, including pine, jarrah, Victorian ash, Blackwood, Merbau, and more.

Many yard businesses are fencing contractors in Melbourne. Yes, you heard it right. Even so, they also provide many different timber construction services for homes and offices. However, contractors are a team of timber experts, cutting timber in various shapes and sizes and making different structures to attach to properties.

Products and Services Timber Contractors Offer for Developers:

Decking Timber or Construction: Many carpenters at timber yards can provide you with a beautifully designed and constructed deck attached to your space. They can help you make your kids and pets more active and happy.

Landscaping Timber or Construction: When it comes to developing garden beds or creating landscapes, timber yards can provide you with a lot of useful stuff such as wooden structures, mulch, swings, boards, seating arrangements, and more.

Fencing: This is the most demanding product the timber yards offer. One can learn a lot about the design, wood type, construction, and installation of the fencing. They may offer fencing as a permanent or temporary solution, depending on the requirements.

Timber Sleepers: Wooden sleepers, also known as railway ties, are large rectangular blocks of wood. They serve as a foundational component of railway infrastructure, providing support for garden beds and retaining walls.

How to Find Trusted Timber Yards Near Me?

Timber yards are businesses that are not found in markets or on highways. Their setup is somewhere in solitude where they can do their work with full convenience without disturbing others. So it is better that you find out from personal contacts, or search online.

Since wood is the most crucial material that is used in additional construction at a home, it must be chosen carefully. Various renowned timber businesses offer the best-quality timber that you can trust. If you want to add a deck, garden, or fence to enhance the exterior of your home, you should find trusted timber suppliers for satisfactory services.

Source

[pineyw00dsshesquatch]

My deep East TX Piney woods garden. I started it really late, so I only have tomatillos trellised on the left of the last pic and the rest is peppers to cope with the heat. The little red one is my first Chile de Arbol I just strung up to dry. Other types I have are jalapeño, serrano, Chile de Arbol, pasilla, and cayenne. My containers are upcycled from thrift stores with spray paint and dollar store sequins.

I made the edging out of wattle fencing using yaupon which ARE a holly, so they work perfectly. That was only my second time making wattle fencing, so it's not amazing, but I still really like it. I see a lot of turorials about wattle fencing online, but none of it really explores what other trees to use besides regular holly and willow. Yaupon is PROLIFIC out here, so it makes for excellent free material. I just mulched the bed with pine needles because we're in the no rain part of summer and they'll block the weeds.

Even though it's late, I want to start sweet potatoes in another bed. It stays hot here so long, I'm gonna roll the dice on em. I have another bed of good forest dirt, but it prolly needs sand or perlite to be loose enough for them. There's a lot of clay in the soil here, it's what keeps these woods clinging on through droughts, but it SUCKS to dig thu.

February was month of the septic tank war and the clay pit that almost sucked in He-squatch like 5 times.

[timetimetimefmp]

SLIME MOULD

Slime mould is an informal name given to several kinds of unrelated eukaryotic organisms with a life cycle that includes a free-living single-celled stage and the formation of spores.

More than 900 species of slime mold occur globally. Their common name refers to part of some of these organisms' life cycles where they can appear as gelatinous "slime". This is mostly seen with the Myxogastria, which are the only macroscopic slime moulds. Most slime moulds are smaller than a few centimetres, but some species may reach sizes up to several square metres and masses up to 20 kilograms.

They feed on microorganisms that live in any type of dead plant material. They contribute to the decomposition of dead vegetation, and feed on bacteria and fungi. For this reason, slime moulds are usually found in soil, lawns, and on the forest floor, commonly on logs. In tropical areas they are also common on inflorescences and fruits, and in aerial situations (e.g., in the canopy of trees). In urban areas, they are found on mulch or in the leaf mold in rain gutters, and also grow in air conditioners, especially when the drain is blocked.

HARVARD REFERENCE 

Wikipedia. (2023). Slime mold. [Online]. Wikipedia. Last Updated: 8 April 2023. Available at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slime_mold [Accessed 1 May 2023].

[kkb285-crystal]

Garden Bed in Parklands

By having a distinct garden bed in the parklands area, there is an opportunity to populate the space with plants native to the area. This is key not only to the ecological restoration of a place, but also in the respecting and embracing of First Nations culture that thrived off of these native plants.

A staple of this garden bed will be the installation of cabbage tree palms. The leaves from this plant can be used to weave baskets and other practical items, an activity that can be lead by First Nations elders in the space.

These can range from $60 to $600 depending on the size, so if we were to install these along a 35m garden bed, with 5 metres between the trunks we can install 7. At the mid-point of the price range ($330), we can estimate approximately $2500 for this project.

Cabbage tree palm (Livistona australis) - True Green Nursery. (2023, January 18). True Green Nursery. https://truegreennursery.com.au/product/cabbage-tree-palm-livistona-australis/

Another native plant in this bed will be birds nest ferns as they are cheap and relatively hardy. If we budget for 20 of these plants at approximately $15 each that will total $300.

Asplenium australasicum - bird’s nest fern. (2023). Australian Plants Online. https://www.australianplantsonline.com.au/asplenium-australasicum-birds-nest-fern.html

Another plant to be used is a tulipwood tree that has colourful fruits and thrives in a subtropical climate. The cost of each tree at a young stage is $20 so to budget for 8 trees would bring the total to $160.

The Diggers Club. (2021). Tulipwood. The Diggers Club. https://www.diggers.com.au/products/tulipwood

These mixed with other native plants will help to bring native wildlife to the area and will harken back to the rainforest roots of the region. Brisbane City Council have a program where they provide native plants for residential properties so it could be possible to work with them to resource plants at a reduced rate. Due to the amount of native plants required to populate the garden bed however, $1000 will be dedicated to the other plants that aren't explicitly outlined here.

Native plant species. (2014). Qld.gov.au. https://www.brisbane.qld.gov.au/clean-and-green/green-home-and-community/sustainable-gardening/free-native-plants-program/participating-nurseries/native-plant-species-for-residents

‌The planned dimensions for the garden bed is 35x5m, so the perimeter required to fence is 80m. Ideally, the edging around the garden bed would be made out of reclaimed timber but in the event that the required material isn't available, the required materials will come to $1400 for a basic solution.

SpecRite 2m Merbau Tapered Garden Border Roll. (2016). @Bunnings. https://www.bunnings.com.au/specrite-2m-merbau-tapered-garden-border-roll_p3321641

‌To top off the garden, a coloured mulch will be used. The required amount of mulch sits around 17.5 m3, but even when using a company with a 20m3 minimum order, the price of mulch is minimal, coming in at $670 to do the garden bed with excess.

Mulch Brisbane - Forest Mulch for Sale. (2021, April 20). North Brisbane Trees. https://www.northbrisbanetrees.com.au/services/mulch/

‌With all of this considered, the final cost of the installation of this garden bed is approximately $6030, not including labour.

For a rough estimate at labour costs, we will allocate a $50/hr wage, assume the project will take 4 days with 8 hours a day and will require a 5 man team, the wages will come to $8000. To account for variations in any of those aspects, an allocation of $10000 will be made to the cost of labour for the garden bed, bringing the final cost of the project $16030.

[aowoffun]

The trees are budding and the Daffodils and Crocus are starting to poke their heads up through the mulch. So it won’t be long for the Morels to start showing up! What a truly wonderful time in the forest! Out with the old and in with the new at….

 https://amazingoutdoorworld.com .

If we don’t have what you need save time and clicks, just jump on our Amazon Affiliate link. Under the menu button on our store site or use this link.

Your privacy is assured and if you have an Amazon Account it will link right to your home page.

#AD #Sponsored #AmazonAffiliate #Archery #Camping #Fishing #Health #Hiking #Hunting #Kayaking #Shooting #Survival #Preping #Bugout

[thatoneraven]

I finished all the info on my boy, so I'm just gonna drop it because I'm an impatient motherfucker. I put a lot of effort into him to try and make him as realistic to the game as possible.

The Taxidermist Rian ‘Kazugra’ O’Byrne Gender: Male Born: June 20, 1997 Age: 24 Nationality: Irish American Realm: Hangman’s Forest Power: Frankenstein’s cure Weapon: Walking stick Movement speed: 115% Power speed: 130% Terror radius: 32 meters Height: Tall DLC: Beauty in Death Special ability Frankenstein’s Cure “A powerful concoction containing poisonous plants such as nightshade and hemlock. It disables the body, but the mind remains awake. For a disease as destructive as humanity, paralyzation is the only cure.” Start the trial with 4 vials. To cure a survivor, press and hold the power button to prepare the syringe. Release the power button to increase movement speed for 10 seconds and rush at the survivor to initiate injection. A successful injection will trigger a timer for the survivor. At the end of the timer, the survivor is immediately put in the dying state and killer instinct reveals their location for 5 seconds. Before the timer ends, survivors can find and inject the remedy at cabinets scattered throughout the map. These cabinets are highlighted in white to the killer and affected survivors. To replenish your stock of vials, interact with a cabinet. Cured survivors suffer from the following afflictions: - Hindered effect - Exhaustion effect - Illusionary terror radius Perks Shadow kin You feel a sense of kinship with the crows of the realm. In your time of need, they offer you their eyes. All survivors within 5/8/12 meters of a crow will have their aura revealed for 5 seconds. Shadow kin has a cool down of 1 minute. Stirred Mulch The lessons of the forest stick with you. Listen to nature, and she will guide you. Disturbances in the environment are significantly more noticeable. Scratch marks made by survivors last 1/3/5 seconds longer. Sounds made by running survivors are amplified. Formaldehyde You crave the perfect specimen. You become obsessed with one survivor. Every time your obsession is healed within a 48 meter radius of you, you gain a token. You can gain up to 4 tokens. Each token decreases your terror radius by 3/5/8 meters. If the obsession is sacrificed or killed, all tokens are lost. Lore Rian O’Byrne was born in Ireland in 1997. At the age of 3, his family moved to America in the hopes of achieving a better life. They started a new life in Detroit, Michigan, but quickly fell into poverty after the chaos of 9/11. Growing up poor in a world where he had to live in constant fear deeply scarred his psyche. He was labeled as an old soul, always isolating himself from his peers and opting to read a book rather than play. With his childish innocence ripped away too soon, he watched with bare eyes as humans destroyed the world. He learned hatred, rage, and vengeance as those around him began treating him differently, separate from the rest of the population. He fell to self harm, finding comfort in the punishment of his human body. As if taking pity on him, nature left a gift in his path. Rian, at the age of 12, found an injured crow on the back steps of his house. He had a soft spot for animals, so he took the crow in and attempted to heal it. The crow lasted a few minutes, but ended up taking its last breath in his hands. He handled it the way he handled everything that upset him, he turned to his creativity to right the situation. He made it his mission to keep the bird’s beauty alive in death. With the help of the internet, he learned how to take apart the bird and salvage its parts. He took its skull and painted it to represent the night sky. In the basement closet, he set up a small shrine for the bird. Its skull rested in a bed of black feathers, surrounded by a crown of smaller bones and dried flowers. As if nature had appointed him a purpose, Rian started finding dead animals wherever he went. They started off small: birds and rodents. He would take them home and perform the same ritual of taking their bones and painting them. Eventually, the animals started getting larger, harder to hide. He managed to salvage a roadkill cat at one point, almost getting caught by his parents who arrived home sooner than expected. He’d started taking walks in the forest nearby, occasionally finding shed antlers to add to his work. After returning from one of his night walks, he found his parents in the basement inspecting a sickly sweet smell. In a panic, Rian ran upstairs and packed a bag with his things and ran away from home at the age of 16. With what little money he had, he managed to make it to a small town in the upper peninsula. A local farmer found him dehydrated and starving on the side of the road, and decided to take him in. They arranged a deal. Rian would work for them, and they would help him get back on his feet. He would wake up early everyday to work tirelessly on the farm, and would turn in early at night to work on preserving animals he found nearby. Out of fear, he kept these shrines out in the forest. He would often come back to find them ruined. This frustrated him, so when he managed to save up enough, he got a small apartment in the heart of the town. He continued to work on the farm in his free time, but with his own space, he was able to keep a safe workspace. He managed to get a job as a vet technician, giving him a better source of income. With this money, he was able to get better supplies for his work. He learned how to preserve flesh and make leather from leftover skin. Bigger subjects became easier to deal with now that he actually had the tools for working with them. His home became a graveyard of sorts, a place to remember the unfortunate victims of humanity. He lived in peace for 2 years, but as he already knew, good things don’t last. A man broke into his house late one night while he was working on a deer skull, holding him at knife point while he threatened him. Rian, strengthened by years of work on the farm, overpowered the man and turned his knife on him. All the rage and hatred he had held over the years came spilling out when the man insulted his work. Rian slit his throat, watching with disinterest as the life faded from his eyes. It was similar to the animals he worked with, but this time, he felt no sympathy, no urge to preserve him. He wanted to tear him apart and put him back together to represent the monster he really was. Rian locked himself away in his room for weeks on end, feigning sickness so he could work on his new project. After 4 weeks of work, Rian took the complete work and hung it in a tree in the surrounding forest where he knew someone would find it. The man was completely unrecognizable. His skin had been removed, dried muscles exposed and decorated with shards of glass. His limbs had been amputated and sewn back on with wire; his wrists ended in stumps, hands relocated to cover his empty eye sockets. His jaw hung low, black tongue flopping uselessly in the tooth empty mouth. His teeth stood out in a crown around his exposed brain, accompanied by shards of glass. His genitals had been burned off, and his gut had been ripped open and emptied, leaving only a dried heart hanging in the empty space. A week later, his work hit the newspapers. People began panicking; there had never been a killer in that town, let alone one that gruesome. Rian reveled in the fame, the power, the fact that he had finally gotten rid of one of the things ruining the world. He grew addicted to the feeling, and started watching people to find his next victim. With the leather he harvested from his last victim, he made a mask roughly resembling a crow. He became obsessed with the idea of plague doctors; he wanted to embody an inhuman doctor, here to cure humanity of its filth. From this sparked his new identity: Kazugra. He was no longer human, he was a vengeful spirit come back from the dead to enact vengeance. His next victim was a pedophile who he managed to drag into the forest. He ended up tied to the trunk of a tree along a hiking trail. He made headlines all month. After his third victim, Rian realized it was too dangerous to stay in the heart of the town. With what he had saved up, he moved to a cabin in the woods nearby. When he would go into town for work and other tasks, he would keep an eye out for future victims. Mangled bodies began to show up more frequently in the trees. People dubbed him “the modern Frankenstein” for his monstrous creations. The surrounding forest became the “Hangman’s forest.” To make matters easier for himself, Rian started learning how to create mixtures of deadly plants to take out his victims. He started a small garden of nightshade and hemlock, favoring those plants for their ability to paralyze his victims. At first, the mixture was too strong, resulting in his victims dying swiftly. Though, with some adjustments, he was able to get the perfect solution, capable of disabling them while leaving them awake. The police were struggling to identify the killer, as Rian was meticulous in his care to leave no clues. The bodies continued to pile up, and news of his work began to spread throughout the U.S. With the leather he had harvested from his victims, he made a new mask. One to represent his true self. During a particularly rough kill one night, a person managed to capture a picture of him with his mask on. The picture spread like wildfire, and he became a controversial subject online. At the age of 24, the police finally caught a trace of the man behind the murders. They found a single strand of red hair crusted to her dried flesh. Immediately, they tracked him down and pinpointed his location. As soon as Rian heard the vehicles outside his home, he fled into the forest. The forest seemed to whisper to him, telling him how to get away. A crow descended from the trees, staring at him with burning orange eyes. The whispers told him to follow it, so he did. The forest grew foggier and darker, until Rian was swallowed into the night. The modern Frankenstein was never found.

[kitwallace]

A moisture sensor for the tiny forest

Earlier this year I attended a online conference of the Chartered Foresters, and one session by Nadine Galle referred to a Dutch company,  Treemania which aims to provide a network of moisture sensors to alert council staff to the need to water newly planted trees.  This podcast by Nadine and Marcel Streegh, the founder of Treemania provides some background. As we know, it’s not the number of trees that get planted that counts, it's the number which get established, having weathered the rigours of damage, vandalism and lack of water. Tree care is increasingly a community responsibilty and we at Bristol Tree Forum are as keen to help establish new trees as we are to preserve the even-more-valuable existing ones.

Not having the resources to pay for commercial products such as those from Treemania, we set about designing our own sensor device.  The first prototypes of our device are now being trialed.  One of these is in the Southmead Tiny Forest, another in a private square in Bishopston and others will soon be established.  Our battery-operated device includes a moisture sensor and two temperature sensors, one for soil, the other for air. Readings are sent via the mobile phone network every two hours to a server from where they can be displayed as graphs and alerts sent by email.  We are interested to see how the data relates to conditions on the ground and the web interface allows a user to add reports on interventions such as watering and observations such as wilting to the record.  We hope this will provide useful data and help us to determine sensor levels indicating alarm conditions so that timely alerts can be sent to the tree carers.

Already we can see a difference between the mulched Tiny Forest and the tree in Morley Square planted in plain soil on the high side of the park:

Tiny Forest

Morley Square

Both exhibit diural variation in the current high temperatures but clearly the tree in Morley Square is in difficulty.

Both the device and the website are prototypes. There is more about the development on my blog. We have much to learn. We do not know how long the batteries will last before replacement is needed or what situations may cause the device to fail to produce useful data.  Our long-term plan is to refine both parts of the system before producing a larger number of devices for use in next year’s planting.  We hope that some of these sensors can be built by other citizen scientists to add to a Bristol network.  Any help, observations or advice will be most gratefully received.

[fatehbaz]

“Indigenizing the local food movement”: the Muckleshoot Food Sovereignty Project promotes nutrition, Indigenous food harvest practices, and native plants of the Salish Sea

Image 1: Muckleshoot Traditional Food Map (from Muckleshoot tribe and Valeris Segrest.) Image 2: A map of the Native tribes of the Puget Sound area at time of European contact. (Via US government) The Muckleshoot tribe is located, on this map, near the boundary between “Puyallup” and “Snuqualmi/Duwamish/Skykomish“ lands. Image 3: A scene from the Muckleshoot native plant garden in Auburn, Washington, in 2010. Native students from Big Picture school in Seattle visited to help construct a berry garden. “Here, Cassie (Cherokee) and Jake (Duwamish) are laying out sheet mulching that will keep down weeds once the berry bushes are planted. Photo by Angelo Baca.” [Caption by Elizabeth Hoover.]

Valerie Segrest teaches classes and workshops aimed at instructing both children and elders on the nutrition and versatility of huckleberries, nettles, salmon, and other native local foods of the coastal Pacific Northwest.

“This is your ancestral Walmart. Everything you need to survive is right here on the land, and we’re going to pick medicine today.”

Seated in Auburn, Washington, (south of Seattle), the project maintains at least 6 kitchens which regularly provide over 1,000 meals a day. The Muckleshoot Food Sovereignty Project began as a program at the Northwest Indian College in Bellingham, before being adopted by the Muckleshoot Tribe. The program has now been expanded to include a health education program.

Nephi Craig (White Mountain Apache) and Tom French (Whidbey Island) are two renowned chefs who have joined to project as instructors.

Excerpt:

Wild game like elk; fish, shellfish and seaweed from the ocean; and a wide variety of berries, roots, bulbs, nuts, seeds, and leafy greens from the fields and forests sustained Coast Salish people, including the Muckleshoot tribe. A study was conducted in collaboration with the Burke Museum the Muckleshoot, Suquamish, and Tulalip Tribes, and King County to assess what foods were eaten by native people before European contact.  What they found was remarkable, with over 300 types of food remains identified, a number that likely does not accurately represent plant foods, which deteriorate much more quickly than animal bones. Indigenous people managed the land through burning, weeding and pruning, encouraging the propagation of choice food species. Traveling to the Pacific Northwest expanded our ideas about what constitutes “gardening.” Valerie Segrest, a Muckleshoot community nutritionist and the coordinator for the Muckleshoot Food Sovereignty Project, is looking to expand people’s conceptualization of gardens beyond rows and boxes (“like Mr. McGregor’s garden” she described), to recognizing stretches of forest dense in medicinal plants like nettles and wild ginger as landscapes that their ancestors intentionally tended and cultivated. (...)

Addressing some of the challenges of accessing this food, in 2008-2010 the Northwest Indian College Cooperative Extension Department conducted a community based participatory research project to learn more about traditional food usage, and explore ways of increasing access. Valerie and others at the College worked with tribal elders, cooks, healthcare workers, cultural specialists and archaeologists to determine how to apply research about the traditional foods of the indigenous people of Puget Sound to create a healthier diet and lifestyle for people today. The first part of the project consisted of creating a modern native foods diet, through reviewing archeological and ethnographic materials, as well as interviewing elders, and then identifying foods that were still available, as well as nutritionally similar substitutes (for example blueberries if huckleberries are not available.)The second part consisted of organizing roundtable discussions with harvesters to see what traditional foods people still have access to, and what barriers exist to harvesting other foods. The third portion included a tribal cooks camp for recipe brainstorming, and the fourth and final part entailed sharing the outcomes with the community. All of this material was complied into Feeding the People, Feeding the Spirit: Revitalizing Northwest Native Food Culture, as well as a Northwest Native Foods curriculum and online resources.

From: “Muckleshoot Food Sovereignty Project, Auburn WA.” In From Garden Warriors to Good Seeds: Indigenizing the Local Food Movement. 18 October 2014. Elizabeth Hoover.

“Valerie Segrest (Muckleshoot), Community Nutritionist and Project Coordinator. [With] Miguel Hernandez, Community Gardener and Project Assistant for the Muckleshoot Food Sovereignty Project. Photo by Angelo Baca.” [Caption by Elizabeth Hoover.]

Tribes of the Puget Sound area. The Muckleshoot territory is located, on this map, south of Seattle in “Puget Sound Salish” land. [Map labels by me, using the base layer topography by Bentler.]

[ckcker]

Fear of Being There

The scientists put 3D glasses on a cuttlefish I read in an article, which I pair with the unread email from a friend of twelve years sitting one tab away, it appears to partly be a link to some video.  Feeling brave, I gather speed and push to the open email, purposefully ignoring all of the friend’s written message to zoom into the thumbnail of the video link they shared with me, which shows on one side of the thumbnail the shocked open mouth of a drag queen reacting to what I assume to be the most heinous transgression.  On the other side, a porcupine’s needles blasting from inside the mid-section of what appears to be a burmese python.  “How could this scenario have ever happened,” I ask myself as I don’t click, then scan the message written above the link:

“are you still in Kansas City??”

“I saw our high school English teacher walking in the park with a huge clump of moss stuck on her ass, I’ve been wanting to tell you that for a long time”

“Carrie is in NA now and I never see her.  also I adopted a dog”

“I’m sad I haven’t heard from you in a long time but I respect that you are just doing your thing, doing what you think is best for you, I love you.  enjoy this video of a drag queen screaming as she watches a porcupine impale a boa constrictor from the inside, it really made me laugh.  It’s not real”

“I would love to visit some time if you’d have me, I would love a long road trip, no pressure.”  

All I ever felt towards this person was worry; they were frequently to be found painfully descending the valley of some knotty, unlubed parabola.  Suicide often seemed on the table though it was never openly discussed, and what was discussed and unburdened between us never seemed to offer this person any relief.  But, I had not seen them in almost two years — still, I worried.  The gristle of sympathy.  Though now I could only think this person a bit stupid for not electing revenge as the only compatible solution.  They wallowed, tried to make inroads on the community around them, multi-tasker, all I did was worry, wonder if there was no chance for them.  On my better days I in fact stopped worrying because I resolved to believe that there was no chance for them.  On worse days I used to encourage them to online date, to take classes in some technical craft and escape minimum wage, incredibly coming from me who has yet to escape minimum wage, I bloated them with the most despicable general advice most likely invented by some phantom community and popularized by rotating day time talk show cryptids.  I surprised myself, the self-help industry deluge came spilling readily from my own mouth, I had no other advice to give. No effect.  I had no idea what could help someone, I did not respond to the e-mail, the scientists put 3D glasses on the cuttlefish to study if it uses stereoscopic vision to hunt, love that.

I responded to the email by going out for a long walk.  The walk proceeded as planned.  And then, in front of my eyes, the glistening juice of a misdirected frappé bronzed itself on the sunlit sidewalk.  It was June.  The person who bought then dropped it when attempting to give their companion a lil sip seemed one or two involuntary grunts away from the most amateur keening. We did not know each other and passing by I said nothing, in another hour and a half it would be sunset and that was the daily alarm for my worst and most stupid memories.  

Walking without a plan for a couple miles had led me to nothing specific: a popular cafe with drive-thru option, and the entrance to some truncated nature preserve with an ample parking lot, that I barely observed.  The humiliated and frappé-less melody of the forlorn customer began to spread over my shoulder, I averted my gaze from the nature preserve to treat it as if an attractive face I was intimidated by.  The only use for such a pathetic nod to wilderness in an urban area should be frequent alien abduction.  I knew better than to hope for that, I was not a good multi-tasker and did best with a single plan of attack.  And I already had a good plan, through subtle make-up I was looking older by the day (more like the month).  Pretty soon I would dye my hair grey.  I considered it was something the young people of the era liked to do and not for the reason of appearing aged.  In fact, more than anything this coalition of young and old visual signifiers increased the proof of their wrinkle-free faces and accentuated the domineering stylistic awareness inherent to youth in a, unnaturally long energy-sucking sigh, capitalist country.  I continued to high step forward like a finickety markhor in a fugly mood. Then, finding myself facing a hard-to-cross state highway I concluded, “oh, haha…ok, ah……that’s fine” and turned back towards the unused nature preserve parking lot, “I am almost too far away from home anyway.” I sat on a curb on the side farthest away from the road.  Looking across the street I saw that the customer and friend had started to kiss.  A simple solution to the loss of the drink.  His body turned awkwardly, I allowed myself to espy the torque of the male’s twisted cargo short pocket and felt very little.  I was turned away from the forest preserve entrance, at sunset I would have the executioner’s urge to once again survey and prepare my Doha nights.  

The arrival of sunset did not derail my day, but it always succeeded in sequestering my concentration so as to remember that, perhaps, time — I felt fully sick of telling myself about it.  I would prefer an obsession more traditionally fun, there was something about the way the eyebrows (with near-unibrow between) met the sharp lines at the top of the hyrax-like nose of Q.C.’s gradually-hot-to-me face.  I did not spend too much time thinking on him, I had little control over my eyes when in his presence. Worse, attempting to appeal to him would mean calling off the whole ambitious deterioration project, which was fully under my control/the best path forward.  I did not spend much time thinking of him when not in his presence and the collective shimmy of maple tree leaves in the breeze appealed to my left side as it carried on through the row of trees behind me.  A sparrow bopped around the swath of thick grass to my right and was not interesting at all.  I knew I felt this about the sparrow because I turned away from it quickly.  Finally I rotated towards the nature preserve entrance.  Was this an opportunity for me to snag a poesis?  I wanted to be home in my bed alone.  I also wanted to pretend to be thriving, inspired and free.  I wanted to try to see the world for the first time again.  

I got up and started towards the forest path with the confidence and direction of the professional managerial class.  To appeal to Q.C. would involve a gravitational u-turn, I would have to cut my hair better, with more style and intention, I would have to once again attempt to wear clothes that mostly fit my body, with careful monitoring of the area where jeans could be hit firm with zested glute.  I would have to invest much mental analysis into determining how to embody his desire.  I would have to keep emphatic track of my body language and reactionary expressions when near him so as to appear at least some low level of confident and laid back.  The antithesis of an angry errant stump, sucking vengeance through an ancient straw lined with obsidian spikes that clacked ominously against dentures I did not need.  I could not appear as “depressed for two.” Again, and worst of all, I would have to deselect the only source of direction for the future, my only true idea for satisfaction: the pursuit of my literally new age.  My only chance to repair my original timeline, by controlling my own time.  The old tension between wanting badly to be noticed and desired by others, and wanting that definition of freedom which is the refusal of all external attention, both approval and disapproval, in order to bring about the most contained stability — of course that tension ran me ragged once again.  That wan zit, it really seemed scripted at this point, I worked very hard to send it to the background.  My body clearly sensed this when it activated the release of an ear wax ball the shape and weight of a gently used cheek piercing stud.  The feeling associated with its premiere and gruesome launch was similar to just catching the last concrete appearance and subsequent fadeout of a semi-interesting-but-ultimately-unremarkable ghost of a 52 year old coffee mug.

I entered the forest, which began with a layer of joyless mulch.  The opening of the trail had dimensions so wide even the most sexually depraved plant had little chance to gak its repressed gropeage on a passing body.  I looked up as I walked, realizing the only animal likely to be spotted here, at this time of day, would be a bird.  Perhaps I might see a hawk or turkey vulture.  My survey resulted only in the very soft swaying of stacked green branches in front of striated and unremarkable clouds.  After watching this gentle tableaux for about thirty seconds, I wanted to more than violently shake an in-his-prime Ansel Adams, ask him what in the unconscionably labyrinthine fauxhawk I’d just seen. Would he have looked twice at this sky — my glance still directed upwards, I heard its scabrous chirp before I saw it, and then I saw it and immediately hated its presence: a sparrow had landed on an oak branch forty feet above my head and wanted to stay there.  I refused to let it observe me, turning to it I suddenly screamed in the timbre of an aggressive synth orchestra hit.  Continuing my walk after compartmentalizing its non-reaction, I wondered how I might make these natural surroundings matter to me.  They made no inherent argument that profoundly engorged the fun bags, perhaps because I was generally hooked into things by chaos, aggression and arguments, not by continuity or bucolia.  I could identify the simpler trees at least.  Of course pines and maples were easy, birch too.  I could usually confirm oak and cherry through guesswork. Otherwise I wandered through a forest in a skein of unskilled silence, in some beta-level abyss that was never fact-checked.  I didn’t know if having the names of mosses and wildflowers and mushrooms made it easier to appreciate the woods I forced myself into.  That I recognized and questioned such absences in myself was part proof that I felt a large component missing in the ongoing construction of respect for humble surroundings, and part recall of an inherent tendency to not care much about my own construction.  Against the spirit of the times, I spurned the concept of “personal development,” both in the thought directives I gave myself, and in the level of base inertia and hatred of fitness that exposed me as down-low sirenia.  “Personal development” — I did not trust the idea.  But moderate walking was acceptable to me and I continued to walk.  All trees beside me were suddenly activated by a quite beefy breeze from inside the forest.  Mood was present.  And along the audio effects of the wind in heavy leaf-covered branches, I thought I heard a rustling in a different tempo one-hundred feet further along the path.  A clench shuttered my body.  Once, I was reckless.  I entered badly lit hotel rooms brimming with silhouettes of animatronic movements.  I took pills handed to me, only asking after I swallowed them what they were (bottom tier migraine medication).  These days nearly any situation outside my apartment brought the inflamed trance of cautious thoughts.  Where I seemed to hear the sound I saw nothing but the continuation of breeze, and felt fully the irregular welts of my prey mentality.  

But I did not turn to exit.  The introduction of humidity into early summer pumped a new game in me anyway, the godforsaken thirst for some swell of “possibility.”  Against my addiction to titanium cowardice, flicked this vague and acidic proposition for adventure — that most rancid word of careerist travel influencers and successful stunt doubles.  Heavy hot air seemed to ferment a perennial wildness of feeling that, in other weather conditions, remained neatly veiled in self-suck.  I hated that I could still be easily infiltrated by this hormonal illusion of “anything can happen,” despite all my malevolent associations with the phrase.  It was important to make a list of all the things that are possible. “Anything can happen” was a sloppy mantra full of menace and probably popularized at some point in the late 20th century to sell mini frozen bagels with pizza toppings.  The list of all the things that are possible is the list of most crucial truth, it is a list that serves as sublime prep for someone who has been through the full consummation of “anything can happen,” when the thing that happened was a mind-shedding, unmentionable thing.  I knew the culture at large was heavily against such a distrust of possibility, as the concept suggested monumental change and always for the better — the potential of fortune.  I also knew it was against the cosmetic grafting of extra skin to make what I suddenly decided to refer to as ‘my boys’ look especially wrinkled and saggy.  I stood still and surveyed the way partial sunlight glazed on and off the nearest bush of presumably poisonous berries.  I briefly turned around and took in the forest entrance in the distance, and beyond it the suggestion of abridged midwestern meadow, now also washing in and out of sunlight with an unpunished laze, that I felt very unused to.  Nowhere else in my life, to which I paid attention, obeyed that kind of rhythm.  This statement was immediately wrong and a direct contradiction of my slow motion lifestyle.  I allowed the statement to stand because its wistful gush was enjoyable, roughly spiritual, and juicy.  

It brought thoughts of a nightmare I once had that eventually, through sustained lack of action, curdled into just a dream, a dream that had a trolled atmosphere of never-ending.  A dream that felt three years long.  A nightmare-incubated dream that appeared seven months after that moment of apex possibility and only the second dream after.  

There was a group of us.  We were in a house, we didn’t know we were in a slasher movie, we had thought it was a self-liberation biopic.  We were pursued by a presence we did not expect.  But every time there was a shot of the killer, the killer had been deleted in post.  Only a tense and expectant camera followed us around, and we screamed at empty spaces at the top of the staircase and in corners of rooms.  Dissonant music accompanied us, which, now knowing we were in a horror movie, we expected and rolled our eyes at. But we never saw the killer and nobody ever died.  

I also remembered the first dream I had after the event, it was very short and involved me waking up at 7am to give a dog one cup of dry food.  The density of hanging leaves in the forest began to inch a feeling of haunch and ceiling overhead, the light landing on the settled foliage only in splatters of rhapsodic dag.  The inevitable feeling of being alone in the woods, despite the steady wash of faraway highway motors, is intimacy with something.  You believe you are not being seen, when small and mundane animals see you, it means absolutely nothing.  With a bear or mountain lion in the mix, at last you will truly feel “seen.”  I was in a freely neglected and shrunken nature preserve on the edge of a midwestern city, I did not think it was possible to be seen by a bear and so I did not feel like I could be noticed.  Thus I felt intimacy.  

The content of that intimacy had zero intellectual value.  It was only the comfort of being fully hidden, safe and alone.  I was impressed by how much thick cover the trees supplied since the preserve itself was state park theater.  The trees hid me from the sky, repressed my existence from something that could watch me.  I basked.  I thought of the substantial bulge of an older male in tight-fitting jean shorts.  In this context of feeling unseen, it seemed the thru line of my consciousness in bringing up such an image was the keyphrase, “something hidden.”  The intimacy began to retreat as a counter.  Again, my head disenrolled me from a healing terrestrial feeling; it looked at nature with vast inexperience, it pursued a perspective of mountainscape print out.  I tried to recover the hypnotic sap of that momentary solitude and continued walking. Of course the interruption of erotica in mind is one of the more iconic nature moves.  And yet for some reason it seemed to unravel the hallmark atmospherics of a more investigative mystery.  Such a divide was proven by watching my pivots of attention between two tickles.  For instance, on one side, direct observation of a boner. The other side, fog covering an empty island highway at night.  I thought I knew well the narrative arc of a priapism, and I thought I did not yet know much about the carnage in my seeping memories.  It seemed obvious — of the things that controlled me, I prioritized with meaning the one I did not know much about.  And instinctively, being alone under thick canopy felt like good setup for that kind of self-irrigation.  I thought of the bulge again then saw another sparrow and after it reasonably bopped about for a skoach I suggested to it, “get away from me fuckface.” Again it did not move.  

I walked several paces off the path and leaned against a definite oak trunk, wondering if my old person stage makeup was still intact, glancing towards the voyeuristic rays of sun slipping through the trees, well diffused and beginning their noticeable descent.  I listened.  After approx. twenty seconds of listening I heard the long-churning spew of a motorcycle gunning down the road about a quarter mile away, somehow powerful enough to overwhelm the peaks of forest ambience with its quite rascally discharge, hunh, the streaks of horrific classic rock revival spraying after it.  I thought, “stop subverting me,” then felt the newly introduced stance of someone in my peripheral vision.  They did not advance or retreat but did fidget.  Probably, I could not be sure without glancing directly, pretending to look up something on their phone.  They seemed about fifteen feet away from me, I considered if I would have to kill them in self-defense.  

“How’s it going?” a man’s voice directed at me from the trail, giving me permission to look at him directly.  A balding but well-maintained buzz of greying black hair, glasses, a thin white-yellow-green-black button down tartan print department store shirt tucked into leather belt and loose fitting blue jeans, the eye eventually and uncontrollably being led down to the neon pink, orange and yellow running shoes with white laces low-key dusted in a sampling of diaphanous schmutz.  My “hi” was squeezed out with full defenses.  The man did not say anything back but immediately enacted some plan of his, made obvious in his eyes that pressed on my face with an unmistakable singularity. He pursued unbroken eye contact to evaluate the potentiality of the interaction. I responded by looking away, remembering it was a powerful move in the game. I also refused to believe he thought me attractive enough for whatever in-development future passed through his turgescent nethers.  As a mature adult, I was no longer available to rawk out with my cawk out but clearly the cast of desperation on the man made it possible for me to appear sexually acceptable, as evidenced by his not leaving.  Nor did I imagine that he produced much foregrounded desire in an m4m community; lastly he probably stayed because he was closeted.  I tried to maintain an appearance of clueless indifference, comparable in chillness to deciding to write ‘U R’ in a text message the same moment you observe a plastic bag fly in the wind towards a sleeping stray cat. Since the man did not leave or say anything, I also waited another 7-10 seconds in silence and downward glance.  Yet this tactic, usually so effective in social settings, had failed, and so I looked at him again.  And again the charged stare of non-verbal magic.  The humid air was beginning to slightly cool as the wind filled the space between my collar and neck, suggesting it might rain soon.  But behind the man’s head the sun, flanked by fleshy lard-swept clouds in various indigo exposures, was still visible.  I hoped if the increase in gusts continued that they might produce a temporary bald spot on the crown of my head as I said, “why are you looking at me?”

He did not immediately respond, but severed all links with my eyes.  I watched his glance minutely dart from one close location on my face to the next, “do you have makeup on?”

Each generation, freer than the last. The man did not know the answer for sure, but that he had noticed something was confirmed.  Very exciting, I beamed internally.  I controlled the beam.  There was still so much work to be done.  

Towards the man I projected breathtaking displeasure.  I assumed the keyed up tone of someone wanting to be regularly shared on the internet: “I’m just trying to enjoy the forest on my day off sis so don’t—” and shut off inexplicably, though recognizing as the system recoiled that the implication of this man’s advances had lightly cracked some automated timecode in my lower lefthand corner of frame.  My body — I had only felt it all of a sudden.  Shoulders were arched forward to protect my underbelly, chest was swollen and stuffed with the debris of a delayed reaction of terror, single inconsistent tingle in left leg suggested the tiniest strobing marquee aimed at the brain, suggesting “run.”  I had thought, this is not a dangerous situation at all.  A little unusual but not something I haven’t experienced before.  Something I could refuse and easily walk away from.  

The body had behaved differently.  Sunset mounted.  The body had believed it was going to die.  I hadn’t even noticed.  Internal monologue always suggested much to investigate when looking for a solution, it presented long interconnected hallways and sliding doors, considerations of escape and tactical movement.  It berated the body for not reading the situation correctly or at all, it hated the body’s spontaneous and inept mechanisms.  It relished any reference to the phrase “bassackwards” but in this case the body was right.  If I was to be killed by this person was still up in the air, I leaned towards no, but the body had not been reacting to my imminent death, only suggesting how relaxedly I pretended to advance through commercial district sidewalks, gas station candy aisles, cruisy chip bag-strewn forest preserves as if I’d never been reorganized by some sort of adaptation of death in which you survive. There was much work to be done, much work, to make the hair of my eyebrows more profuse and unkempt.  My nose hair, which was way too thin and manageable, samesies.  It was with the failure of a deep breath that the gauze of that summer sunset coaxed me back into the scene, despite the marquee now reading “Run II: Darkest Before Dawn.”  The man had not known how to respond to my ejection from the clapback.  I took stock, the forest appeared momentarily still and squirrelless.  His energy seemed as if grappling with the possible realities of what I was.  If crazy, at least in the way that interferes with verbal communication, I was no longer an option in his “mmm………damn”-ridden design.  If crazy but able to continue clear conversation, or if so shy as to appear only intermittently awkward in conversation with strangers, I was still a highly available mark.  

“Do you like it here?” he asked.  It seemed that micro makeup and abandoned sentences were not considered dealbreakers for someone in his position.  My body continued to want to leave and I stayed, he took a few steps forward, staring again with that binary intensity where the recipient must commit to its endgame or flash exit.  

A strap broke in me: I suggested, “I hate it here.”  The comment reached him. He looked as if to be re-processing me under a blank face but maintained his slow approach.  I was answering his questions coherently and so I was incredibly sexy, perhaps.  “I’m not doing well,” I followed up, using a long-acting smile-to-smirk succession in an attempt to muffle it.  

This was ignored, “I’ve got a pretty big one,” silence, breeze, sunset, wow — squirrel, “what are you looking for out here, alone?”  

Silence, squirrel, “you know where you are, right?”

Breeze, trees, sunset, reggaeton in the distance, instinct erupted — I stepped forward. “It’s not yet time for my annual anal,” my voice cracked.  “In fact, it won’t happen this year, or ever again.”  

A pause was produced, though it was clear he didn’t quite grasp my meaning.  I stood still, now staring at him in order to properly knead the info.  Finally a look of understanding on his face — “oh, I’m sorry” and he exited back up the trail, all spells dismantled.  

I remained in the woods.  I looked at the squirrel.  I even yearned to see a sparrow, uninterested in knowing why.  I allowed the intellectual regulations to rest, I listened to the joyous pump of prancing squirrel feet on twig-bedazzled forest floor.  I looked at the sunset, while blocking the word “beautiful,” and liked it.  I walked to the path, turning away from the exit with the rush of a recently liberated preteen spray-painting an anarchy symbol on the door of a rusty abandoned sedan next to discontinued freight train tracks that are overgrown with weeds and yellow wildflowers.  I wanted to walk deeper into the woods, I wanted to be in the woods when it got dark.  I wanted to be alone and without a mind.  Knowing it was untrue, I nevertheless proposed to myself, “I think I could cum just from being alone for 3 weeks.”  After a feisty fifty or sixty steps around the curving path, I met chain link fence separating the forest from a row of backyards and their respective single family homes.  I thought of the cliche of an evil character in a kid’s movie laughing maniacally for some time then very suddenly stopping to present a severe and unamused face.  It surfaced as a whimper.