Happy Artisan Architectural Stuff: Screw the Codes! [Excerpt from my Junior Year Journal]

I finally sent the letter to the Cultus! Yay! I also have an idea for artisan architecture that promotes the growth of native biodiversity without damaging its surrounding ecological environment. It will have no plastics of any kind, nor any damaging chemicals. The carpets, if able, will be replaced with soft, native grass. This carpet of sorts will be watered through drip irrigation from the rain water that gets collected on the roof. The drip irrigation system and surrounding outdoor permaculture forest garden will be watered by the elements and a geopolymer pipeline if applicable. (A gray water system should be installed for the shower and sink, wasted food gets composted and the toilet is a composting toilet). The refrigerator is replaced with a fermented food pantry (underground, if you can.) since it stores for a long time and is healthy (Meats like fish and poultry and any kind of solid plant is fermented, drinks can be fermented into kvass soda or alcohol, along with water storage. Ooh! Prickly Pear syrup in kvass soda! Sounds good!). The outer walls will be straw-bale walls, outside plastered with natural hydraulic lime (Handmade, if you can), the inner walls being plastered with clay plaster. The wood used should be strong, and should be debarked by hand. Keep the log naturally round, for square logs are weaker There's a reason why trees aren't rectangular prisms, so why do we use sheets of wood and flat wood planks to build weak, ugly, stubby commercial homes? Round wood is naturally stronger, as nature favors the strong and therefore not the nasty rectangular prism logs that mills pull out. The logs should be joined with heavy-duty nuts and bolts to increase the strength and endurance of the building.

Oh, wouldn't it be cool if the fermentation jars would be organized by color based upon the visible [or light] spectrum (or rainbow colors, if you will). It's art, practical and food! You see, different jars will be different colors because of the contents inside, put them in a visible color spectrum based order and it looks like a rainbow; however, since fermented food should be stored in the dark, you may not see it. Boo.

I wrote this because I injured myself skateboarding (I lost my balance, and then I was thrown off and rolled onto the road. I got up, in pain. I gather my skateboard and limped home to take care of my injuries. Then I went back to dangerous hill-surfing! Woo!) I now need to rest my body and I decided to think. I was talking about how carpets are disgusting sponges with my mom and how I would rather have a natural dirt floor when I saw the grass I walk on outside my bay window sliding door thing and I got the idea. I might go down to my community spa pool to ease the pain, maybe I can make new friends while I'm there. Or, maybe the people will leave me alone... Nah, only the drunk frat boys who can't rap, but still try to do that! Yay! I'm a natural idiot repellent! Seriously though, those guys are annoying. However, the home should follow codes to the best of nature's ability. I should also build it in regards to my spirituality. Yay! My crooked path is getting sharper with thorns. My side hurts still.

Mellified Man Draft

"Mellified Man"

There is a man buried in the sand.

His body stuck in an urn of honey,

That his owner wanted to sell for money.

The man said, "Am I dead? Or sleeping a very deep sleep?"

"Don't move!" Said the owner, "Don't even creep! 

Or else you will spoil the honey and I'll never get my money!"

The owner walked away and left the man to stay.

"Will I ever see the light of day as I rot away in this jar of honey"

Said the man.

"Just so my owner could get some money?"

He waited and waited for the light of day, but years would pass until he found his own way

There was a merchant who sold fine wares, he wore fancy clothes and had golden hairs.

"Ah!" said the merchant, as he found a lump in the sand, "I wonder, don't I wonder, if here lies a mellified man!"

He dug and he dug and he heard a big THUNK!

This is the urn, the buried man's trunk.

He picked up the urn of honey but sold it for money.

"Oh, no!" Yelled the man, "This isn't funny!"

Childhood Inspired Writing

Despite what I may have told you, not everything in my childhood was bad. As a matter of fact, these experiences may have helped make me a better person. I believe that I am a more open-minded person due to these experiences; and therefore, I hate ignorance and do not tolerate it. I am intolerant of religious ignorance (Both toward certain religions and when religious people target groups like homosexuals or furries), sexual ignorance (Homophobia), amongst any other forms of ignorance spouted by people who really need to open their mind and educate themselves. I will protect and defend those defeated by ignorance because I will believe it is right. Anyway, without further ado, here's some embarrassing stuff from my childhood:

1. I remember one time I was playing outside. You see, my aunt owned an illegal child day-care business, so the kids I didn't like and I went for our regular playtime.
12. I was over at a gymnasium because my big sister was a gymnast in here more perfect years. I got bored of watching her, plus I didn't even know where she was. My mind was always unable to focus at the time, so I ended up going near the lockers and stealing a soda I found. Somehow, the person who owned it managed to stick candies stuck inside of the bottle, so I opened it up to find out how they placed it in there. Well, it exploded so I just threw it at the locker and laughed. The kid that I've never seen before walked up to me and asked if we could play tag. Well, I did and I ended up playing tag with him. Once I got back to the bleachers to watch my sister I told him to stop. However, he did not and he ended up pushing me. My body backflipped under the bleachers and I cracked open my head on one of the bleachers. Blood was everywhere. I got up, crying; and my stupid aunt told my mother, "We cannot take him to the hospital, it will cost $400.00 and I don't have the money." So, I just got home, put ice on my head and now, if I were bald, you'd see a scar on my head from the event. It's like a subtle dent in my head, I can still feel it. It hurts when I hit it on the shelf.

Biography: Attempted Life in Living, Alas.

"Aye, La vie vaut la peine d'être vécue, la mort vaut le culte! Mustn't you look upon yourself for who you aren't to be! This life of mine, much a life I beheld, now is the melting pot of my creativity and the rest is just what is in my mind. Now, behold! Harken forth, all ye worshipers, find the way to escape the pestilence of that which holds you. May your life be as good as mine. Many thanks unto you, many thanks be. So may shalt those who go by night, live a lie and see. The people of this realm would be the people that be.

Aye, Que la mort vous embrasse, que la vie soit courte! But, alas! Such is life, for it ends ever so quaintly. May your soul exist forever in the inside of the beast, and may that he and she exist purely for its consumption. For the true beast controls all living, controls all that is dead and forces them in an endless cycle of birth and rebirth until one finds that true rebirth comes from death! Such is life, the endless, fathomless abyss which the gunningagap of fate may break! Bow all ye worshipers, for what is dead is dead!" - Thoughts and Contemplation journal, Volume II by the author; listed under, "Poetry in the Form of Essays," which contain the nonsense of archaic English.

My life, for all to see? Nay, this is certainly not, for I am too coy; to bashful in the presence of intrusion upon my past that I dare not choose to show what lies underneath. Yah, how crude ye say! How crude. But, alas, I am just a humble writer. Who has written in archaic English, and for what? For you to comprehend? Certainly not! You mustn't comprehend, by my hands and my hands alone, the past is dead. I have written much, written many. But none published, none recognized. Who will see what is plain and good? Nay, nobody here! You will not, and I shall never see the day when this, so called putrid excuse for a "Biography," will be noticed. Just know, dearest reader, one shall not attempt to find meaning in this script. For it means nothing. There is no point! Nah, none at all! My writings are just the surreal attempt to make you perceive that which you consider intelligent; that which is omnipotent, that which shalt die. It is just poetry without stanzas, without rhyme. It is, therefore nothing, and that is what you shall know about me: Nothing! Nothing at all!

Good day, may life hear the call of death and weep at your beginnings.

Books for Kids! and the Parents will Read!

Books for Kids! Transcription: Copy #42

Title of Book: "We Found a Hat"

Author: "Jon Klassen"

Is there an author's bio in the front or back of the book? "Yes."

What does it say about the author? "He wrote and illustrated, 'I want My Hat Back,' and, 'This is not my Hat.' 

Describe the cover in a detailed sentence: "Very minimalistic, watercolor, yet beautiful. I think that he used sponges to paint."

# of Pages: "25 in total."

List the Characters: "Turtle 1 and Turtle 2"

Describe the Setting(s) in a detailed sentence: "Desert in reality, outer-space in the dreams they had."

Transcriber #42 was executed for releasing expunged data, further whereabouts classified.

Hopper Inspired Writing: "Wisht Well of Janine"

I see her every now and then, sitting alone. I've never seen anyone more gone from the worldly affairs of humanity. No one knows her name, and no one pays her heed. I have taken to call her, "Janine," after a woman who looked quite similar. A woman I knew long ago. Her pale skin shined in the moon light, most like a Visum et Repertum. Perhaps, she goes by night to arouse her victims; or more so, her prey is herself. Janine lived a short, painful life. One that she would not tell or talk about, but she looked calm and quite. She was a silent tree amongst a forest of mating calls, yet as all know: Those that are silent have the most to say. But, she said but naught and kept to herself. She never spoke of her past, her turmoil. She never made a word about her life or the strife found in it; she only said to me, on the train to New York, "My name is Janine," in the most quite of voices. She spent most her her time in thought, maybe writing a prose of two. The futility of her fate was heavily apparent, weighing down every part of her being through and through until she could no longer bear the burden anymore. A few days later, I saw her disappear, and sometimes when I am at the cafe I hear her voice. But when I turn around, the person is silently sulking over a mug of coffee.
Maybe, it is Janine. Or maybe a doppelganger; or else, just another woman in the cafe. Whoever she may be, she will always be a Janine to me.

Narrative Poem for Art Pieces

"End, based upon the Painting, 'Chatterton,' by Henry Wallis"

In which I look out of this place.

I see him.

Sometimes I do not desire to be near him, though.

But what other place may I go? Each time I try to know,

as I skim,

through the pages ripped from the space.

The space in which I look out of this place.

I desire to get out, to run about.

But with him, may I forever stay,

as my mind is forlorn, my thoughts just stray.

A life lost is a change made,

I guys that is why I ran away; away from my body

Away from my mind.

For new lands in death shall I find.