The Coffee Guy's blog

In the Wet it Get About as Wet as I Can Get

"Now its raining cats and dogs and I can’t stand croaking frogs."  I know it’s a need for the roots, but I don’t gots no roots.  I just want the crisp cool nights and warm days of fall.  Bring on the colour, bring on the leaves.  No bug rakes needed at this juncture.

Weltern movements wishing washing was easier.  It’s not the notion of the motion it’s the Quaking of the quiver.  The hunt should be nigh over and the stores and larder full.  We bliss with behaviours not regulated by the flourish of the shortened days and darker nights.  Fuel Foraging will begin soon, 8 or 9 bushies should do it.  It’s the outside fire that uses up a lot of the fibrous material, no Damper, no Billie to boil.  Those down-under understand.

But the stock of that amber and yellow liquid builds for those relaxing meditative days and nights by the flame.  Insides warmed by that nectar and the outside soothed by the glow of the burn.  Of days in the fine cosmopolis of Hespeler on the Speed we are banned from the burn, but confidence reigns supreme.  Fire it is, by the ice.

Builds in the garage trudge ahead in await of open roads and venues.  I do have an ice option as well.  I may be employed, it may not. No diff to this dude.  I can ride or not in the cold, is a coulda shoulda thing.  Oft presented options for the ride develop and wane. We have been through this season before.

Western norms make this a time for that orange gourd to rear its ugly flavoured head in brews and baked goods.  Be wary my fledglings, it is an abomination.  You can check the Ferris listing in this medium for a factual analysis.  The atomic half-life is eons, tested and proved.  Never eat anything that lasts that long or doesn’t have that colour in nature.

Fortitude is needed to feast one’s way through the cold times.  The vertical descent on slats will resume again this winter.  Steep, Deep, and Trees is the mantra.  Muggles away, and child pollution at a minimum.  Mostly mired in moguls, many miss the serenity and challenge of the aforementioned terrains.

Projects will abound inside through the colder months, however stimulus if brought in from the cold.  That clarity that comes with the dry air cleanses the mind easily.  We have nothing but a large dark coloured bang to thank for the orbs turn and tilt.  The variety in climes as a dream of the imaginary sky friend to some.  Could it be so distinct, could the thought be that clear, the precision alone is startling.

I posit the world spins positively.  The upside of the downside moving up and up side moving down is uplifting.  Only an atom of a chance in hades could bring the primordial soup to this conclusion.

Make it a Scotch Shot Coffee today Clariss.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C.

Voice Your Vote and Vanquish the Villains

Duty and obligation are oft used interchangeably: they are not always so.  Duty, derives it existence from the requirement or owing of something. Obligation, has a moral root from the belief that you must perform something.

You as a member of a democratic society, have an obligation to go to polls and place your ex on a spot and vote.  Your have no duty to do so.  You do not owe me or any other person you action to make your make on the ballot.  Your moral requirement is derived from your acceptance by residing where you do.  A representative democracy places a moral obligation on you to state who will be the person to represent you.

You cannot simply say, “I don’t care who gets in, they are all the same.”.  by accepting to live here, you are obliged to do the smallest part of your obligation and pass your say on to a representative.  Society does not operate by rules or laws, it operates because we all agree there is a moral obligation to act in certain ways.

Now you may say my guy I voted for was not elected.  That may be true, but you completed your moral obligation to voice your opinion and toss your hat the way of the person of your choice.  That is all that is required.  The elected are then entrusted with your morality through them.  You are now absolved of responsibility until the term of office is complete.

You owe no body anything that you should vote.  When this occurs, it is called patronage.  Somebody paid you for your vote.  In a representative democracy, it is known as corruption.   While this does happen more often that one might think, it is not the reason to vote or a good reason to vote.  Corruption is unavoidable with the human spirit.  Freedom of thought is inviolable.

These times occur at various terms and opportunities as we all live and age.  When you are able, morally you must. 

Foam it on the top Fabriana, make your mark.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

When Ingenious and Industrious, Tribulations are Trivial

Hobby is an unknown word or action to many if not most.  Too many it is rare; occupation is a must.  There are those that think they could become active.  Activity is a mindset.  I feel Atlas is about to Shrug.

Intensity and determination do not mean speed, it’s a formula for concentration.  Grey matter needs exercise as much as red matter.  One thing that makes me smile every time is watching the act of being industrious.  Mind by means, making mother earth better.  It is not merely the acts themselves, but the actions entwined in those acts.

It is a pleasure to savour the labours of others.  Respect and reflect on the processes from body part to brain and back again.  Some repetitive, some talented, some unique, and some definitive.  From idea to design through implementation.  How obvious it is from the etymology, from the Latin “diligent” and “assiduous”.  Exactly how I saw it, and see it.

I am the opposite; I prefer the privacy of my mind while I persevere in my toils.  Me plugging away, solving problems and plotting my diligence.  To be the watched or the watcher both have their benefits.  I could have sat back and beheld for hours.  But here as I toil on one task, pondering another, my mind is discovering new techniques, subtle changes and alterations, new roads to the end.

I posited about the GNP a while back, it too is wrapped up in this.  There are so few with the drive for new different and the creation of objet d’art.  To me, any “thing” you have done is that described as such.  Colour, texture, material, materiel, medium, and the message all ooze forth from the crania of the masses.  You have to let it out after you excavate your brain.  Play with it and cajole it into that which pleases you solely. 

When the weight of the world is too great, the forces acting upon it will need to scratch that itch.  It will not be smooth, there will be jostling of the orb to reach JUST that spot.   Shrug as you would.

Rainy day Rhonda, make it a hot pour over today.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

I, Aye Aye the I for Ideology Ideally

In conversation, the directness of contact comes in many ways.  Some audible, some visual, and some tactile.  Which of it has the greatest import at what instant in the palaver?

During elocution, the receiver has an obligation to both absorb and understand.  Some information comes in the form of sounds, some visually, some tactilely, and some optically.  For me the eyes have it.  Deep understanding is tossed into me by the look.  I catch the intent and intensity of the point with my eyes.  Of course, the glove must be open to catch the ball.  Just looking is not necessarily seeing.

Why is it that the most silent of all senses sends and receives so loudly?  At times I can feel this as much as if I was poked by a pin.  Not only in a negative way, which I have rarely experienced, but in a positive reassuring way: “Yes, that is exactly what I mean.”  No stare, no blink, no watering of the eyes, just a solid, “Yes, I understand.”.

Of course, there is always the incessant trap to fall into with some interlocutors.  To look and not stare can become a daunting task in itself.  The ones which mesmerize you may not be the ones that have that effect on me.  I know by rote those that influence me.  There is no discovery often needed through oration, a distinct look is enough and the words on reaffirm the already understood inferences.

To view is not necessarily to regard.  When we regard something, it is the act of taking notice.  Observing the import and export of the studied.  We take in what our filters allow.  Open filters will deliver more information.  Oft as I ingest the eyes of a dialogist, the sounds of speech disappear and wane and I glean a deeper understanding through sight.

Let it pour Liza, I like it café noir.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Frisky Friends Flinch at Foghorns

Following forecasts, the fellows who fry fingers at the chicken joint are acutely aware of over cooking.  Activity at its base, is the act of change over stasis.  Moving and manipulating ambulatory limbs is the minimum.  You can jig or jag, but there must be a delta in the equation.

The painter applies a medium to a medium, the art comes from the conjoining of those multitudinous applications.  While some appear random, the gist is obvious.  Depth and breadth create the third dimension in our minds eye.  The artist does not push anything, the image is pulled from within the medium.

Once on a stretch, the kernel grows into an image.  The image is then developed by the third party being you, the interloper.  Morphology transcends the objet d'art.  Sometimes the missing is that which creates the substance.  Visually and with tactile developments, the artist evokes both emotion and recognition. 

The “Chicken and the Egg” quandary comes to mind, was the vision there prior to execution?  Or was the vision only after completion?   Having seen, sketched and gestated upon, was that iconic piece finished with the exception on simply laying down some paste?  Conversely, was that final product in mind all along and the dreaming, sketching and cogitating was simply a road needed to be travelled to get there?

Cats on the other hand have no apparent volition.  Mere momentary mental mythical monstrosities managing their movement at any one time.  One moment calm and serene, the next a devilishly Tasmanian frenzy of motion.  The feline foibles are vastly underrated.  Unlike the, on first glance, method of application of a thick past on thin canvas.  Did Van Gogh paint in a flurry or in a slow intentional baste of oil on velum?

While I write in response, I see the digested words of others and wonder.  Can I or would I write in a way contrived to be desirable or even cogent?  I have.  Innumerable pages of it in past lives.  Dissertationous pablum directed at a small cadre of consumers.  I am beyond that now and simply inspired by the life in a day of what I see and experience.

Unusually a Cappuccino Corrine, make it emblematic.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Ire Isn’t Always Instantly ad Infinitum

Muse what you might from misinformation.  Mine came as a mind storm of mania.  While I am rarely in a state of Ire, at times it’s a good vent for steam in the cranium.  The flushed face of irritancies shows well the extent of one’s pulchritude.

Not my place to judge, my place to allow the effluvial nature exude.  The delight of seeing calm within a stormy offering allows the writer to delight.  It came as a realization when having a parley.  Observation is all part f the act of listening.  You can hear with your eyes and ears.  Similar to tasting with your nose.

Mine is not the Ire I mention, its other’s which is more pleasing.  Whilst I can dredge up that situation which can push you into the state of which we speak, that is not the direction to which I might leadst thou.  Mere mention of a mnemonic might make you muster or mutter.  My favourite from years in higher education was FSYLDSSRB.  Call me if you know.

Don’t let your Ire out if you don’t.  The only flushed face this season should be on the red togged sorts.  Relinquished rallies of rants brings the beauty of colour of your mien.  Are you the emotive type internally or externally?  That within is with all.  I can visually ingest that for days or nights or both. 

Short today Shirley, make it strong.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Secrets in Society, or Society in Secrets

Sussing out sisters of the nation is difficult at the best of times, Sistering any Joist in a descent Joint can be tedious if nothing else.  And so the tomb of knowledge buries itself in a miasma of societal indifference.  “They” used to call it the “Pablum of the Masses”, well I did, now it’s the incessant race to the bottom of the lowest common denominator.

Passive indifference is the same as passive anything.  One always needs a driver, three eighths or better.  When the world changes at a pace not seen since Ole man Ford made a line, we need guides and getters, finders and fixers.  I was “retired”, have never been busier.

I need to find ANOTHER job to get some time off.   My casual time is at other’s behests.  The telephonic devices have taken over.  I will be on Hiatus for the following 30 days, getting me nearer to the 7th millennium.  There are a select few that can circumvent the ignorant.  There has never been a time more Tome-like than the present. 

I could write a river to the Amazon and still not let the flood gates abate.  Whence cometh the 12 days?  That is when I go on line for the duodecimus days of Christmas songs.   Some old, most new.  I am not a fan of the minor key pushing melancholy out.  It’s a good exercise, and difficult practice. 

Wouldst, thou have this any other way?  If you listen, I appreciate it.  If not, you too will just be part of the Masses dining on Pablum for days and weeks.  Think of the joy and bliss. Delve in delight at delusional dreams of delinquency.  There will be noshing and drinking along the way.  What is your preference for libations?  Perhaps I join you in one.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Art for Art’s Sake, No Drink, No Beholding

I could orate in Latin; less knowledge can be a blessing.  But, in the eye of the unwashed, we see what our head perceives not that which may be in front of us.  While our window on the world is said to be the interpreter of information, its actually some varying portion of out grey matter which holds that key.

I wile away at times wondering about the ways of the world.  My cognition changes the views both metaphorically and in reality.  The problem-solving perspective changes post haste and periodically.  This is intuitively called ingenuity.  We all have less and more at times of what we want and need.  The brain pulls what it wants, and filters the unneeded as it sees fit.

Cogito ergo sum.  But who is the “I”? Does your brain allow you for vision beyond the pale?  Or are you myopic in your perception?  How is it that Van Gogh can see the Stary Night in such a way that transcends time, culture, age, and date?  Where did Monet sit in Paris for us to instantly recognise the scene?

Why does a stone David imbue so much emotion?  It is impossible to understand why we all see the same “ish” vision of reality, emote similarly, and understand in much the same way out view of the world?  Plato and his shadows on the cave wall only exacerbate the question while making it simpler.  The visual is only tainted by our nature and how we were nurtured.  

Would education make us see the same?  If one beholds a beauty, why are some not attracted?  I know one, I see one, no one sees the same one.  It is a question of billions of connexions zapping and popping in a ball sized dome atop our backs.  When I say blue, what do you see?  Denim or azure?  Robbin’s egg or Sea?

I ponder endlessly on this. 

Curve that pour Corinne, I want to see the amber nectar steam.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Dentists, Dentes, Redemption, and Resurrection

The art of oral eradication of one or more Dente, requires a finesse I could not muster.  I can at the best hold my own in the chair.  The pleasantries and patter are not enough for my nature. 

I have unsewn, unstitched and pulled all but two of the sutures threaded into my outer membrane.  Thankfully these most recent are dissolvable.  Using a mirror to pull them is an unforgivable experience.  I did 18 once.

In modern times these are specialists.   In those of yore, they were masters of none.  The apothecarist was also the extractor, barrister, and trader.  Today they do not allow the alcoholic daze to numb the gums.  Its swabs, or needles, or a gaseous substance, to make you as unaware as you can afford. 

I recall as a child pulling quills from the Porky Pine out of our dog’s snout.  We used ether in a bread bag over his head at first.  He awoke no the wiser; he did it again.  Ah the bush life.  Our current social porosity allows for the exemption of these tribulations.  We manifest our lives bisected into private and personal.  Wouldst I post a pic?  Would I describe in detail, adjure your comment and pixelization of my subjugation to pain?  NOPE!

We have deemed the necessary as unimportant and the trite as indispensable.  The cross pollination of these ideas has become the flowers of our lives.  The crop shorn short, the lowest common denominator.  The global calculation of our existence depends on the smallest clue. 

With the flourishing development of more and less interesting ways of excelling and exceeding expectations.  Great Expectations is a tome.  Our expectations are a snippet.

Disembogue the filtered nectar destiny, I like the flow.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

A Muse in C, D, and E Major

The C and the Corinth are both standards.  Strong, original, and of integrity.  I can start elsewhere, however it must all begin here.  Ideas arise from the interplay of basic tenets.  Diversion arises from the crossplay of ideas bounced and rebounded from a Muse.  I am sure in Ancient Greece each Muse mustered when hailed.

Outcomes may vary regardless of the starting point.  On treks to the hinterland the routes may vary.  Origin and development use different goals and objectives arriving at dissimilar yet surprisingly related accomplishments.  Once set on, the paths may vary at nodes and forks, junctures and cruxes.

It is not my definition to have ideas, it is my destiny to bring them forth as my Muse posits perturbations for me to ponder.  These meetings come too infrequently a times and timely at times.  What kernel needs planting, seed needs sewing, or germ needs promotion?  Each time I near the end another yaw in the ship of my mind swings me in another direction.

Dakar, the destination, as a Muse.  Otherwise, thoughts are oft arrived at from the end.  If you have a realization to which an explanation ought to be attached, your Muse may enlighten you.  Paris – Dakar A rally like no other.  It has a known destination, the Muse will spirit the how.  Whence you travel through sand and water, deep and steep, it will not be an easy excursion.  Trouble abounds simply in the obstacles and the terrain. 

My Dakar Muse provides the end, the trials and tribulations are mine.  Many times, a start is unknown.  How to get from some where to there?  How to arrive at your destination not knowing from where to begin?  It can be a situation where the problem is unknown or obfuscated by the obvious.   Or so close to your ocular organs its hard to see.

In the Key of E, everything has an equilibrium eventually.  As I muse about my Muse, eloquence and elegance elates me.  Even further to the truth about being everything to everyone every time.  E types are everywhere, one I wish was in my garage, and one I have.  Exasperation is not far afield.

In the end, the keys are key.  I enjoy the C, D, and E’s.  Off note or on key, the ability to stimulate thought and ideas is a cherished place to hold court.  I muster daily for the strength to use that which is near, to make that which is further, closer.

Make Music as you pour Milly, I like the sounds of Java in the morning.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Cee Minus Days are Here

Cee (pronounced “see”) is a referent to the type of virus infecting the orb.  We have had enough information.  It is time to ween ourselves and the media off the feeding tube of this ovine teat.  As we are in the days of A.C. it will be hard to explain: as well there is still a substantial part of the vox populi to quote Bob Segarini that have not yet subscribed.

In the olde weekly format, we will have one day in seven on which we hear no Cee News, information, statistics, or rants.  This will prevail for four rotations of the seven-day periods.  Following the four weeks of one Cee Minus days, we will transition into 2 Cee Minus days for the next 4 seven day cycles.

As you can observe, there is a progression here.  If you cannot see this, perhaps you can start at the beginning again and catch up.  Following the second four-week cycle of 2 Cee minus days, we will progress to 3 full Cee Minus days in every seven-day cycle. And as before, it will continue for 4 seven day-cycles.

The weening process has always been hard, and there will be casualties.  Social media will falter and sputter.  News agencies will have to bring back sessions promoted by soap ads.  Pundits will need to finds substantive issues to blather on about.  Politicians will now be able to get back to the job of governing without the incessant daily press conferences.  The masses can get back to work, shopping, dining, and entertainment.

The unemployed and the unemployable can get back to work.  Travel will arise from the miasma.  Your personal and outward demeanor will flourish like a flower in the spring.  Purpose will return to your cognition, allowing creativity and freedom.  The corporate big wigs can move on in confidence that economic growth is here again.

This is a simple program people, get behind it, and move on.  In a mere 200 days, (we will be nearing A.C. 800 then) we can perhaps ring in the new millennium A.C. 1000 completely Cee Minus.

Celebrate the Coffee Caren, it’s a pouring day.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.