The Coffee Guy's blog

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.

Sap Sucking Super Sugar Day

It has been time in the making waiting for tapping.  It is neigh.  With a double capacity tree, we will be maxing out on the gallonage.  In the southern urban areas, the season is short.  If time permits, I might even do some offing with cellulose fuel.   Maybe just finishing off.

Back at the ole stead we tapped 40 with 100 buckets.  Had some good times drawing and boiling.  Warm sunny spring days, cool nights just below freezing.  Crusty mornings and slushy afternoons.  Ideal for the running of the drops.  Each bucket 2 gallons, good days we would empty twice a day.  You do the math this time.

With guests and the buttered rum and Glühwein flowing time passed pleasantly.  We would ski the X country style and shoe the snow style.  In the mornings the snow was hard enough to walk on.  Times were hard and soft.  Fire burning endlessly.

The sweet nectar reduced by 40, thick and sticky when poured on the snow.  Great on toast, pancakes, cereal or desserts.  The home stuff always tasted better.  And we used to grade it with a chart long gone now unfortunately.  The farmer down the road hosted the Lion’s pancake breakfast at his bush, hundreds would show up for pancakes and sausage outside in the sunny March days.

We would oft walk there the two miles to avoid the soft shoulder parking which always sucked in a few cars from the townies.  You live on a gravel road; you know you never drive near a shoulder in the spring.   Facts be as they are, we never drove near the side at any time of year.  Just a thing.  Spring would rise some corduroy up through the gravel to be graded over later in the thaw.

The budding out would end the boil off.  Tart tasting sap only produces similarly flavoured syrup.  You can’t take the tase out, you can only strengthen it.  Will be fun for the Covid Spring, and hopefully less violent that the Arab one.

Add a little sweet today Cinthia, the French roast needs it.

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.

It’s a Gonna be a Long Night…..again.

So, there are these people I know of, read carefully now, who will be standing near a large ring of stones. Catch an eye as they spy through about why, but not the ex. No axes here.

Its that semi annual date when we rue the changes. Long to short, short to long, almost my old party line ring; long, short, long. The times are after all. We long wait for the shorter days to end and are too short on the long days of summer it seems. Some grass is always out of reach. Of course, not in the nation state of good ole Canada. The grass always seems to be available.

So not only the Nazca lines align, so do other monoliths and arranged clods of colossuses on the orb. Only tinker tales and toils of waiting and watching, noting and denoting brought these formations forth. Too few have seen them and too few are aware. But alignment is not only for the mechanics. Even the stationary and non-stationary time pieces require proper alignment.

But does the Henge mark time, or only THE time? Are there marching orders rising from beneath the great and lesser pyramids? Will the meek inherit the orb, or will some rise out of the miasma and show us light not seen in the past. Thinking only proves you have thought. My good buddy Descartes.

But on this very long dark and not so stormy night I will and always will stare up into the vacuum of space and wonder what I would do when the opposite holds its truth. Summer is the other. Shorter comest with patience. Another kind of oxymoron really; because of you wait long enough it will become shorter.

Perhaps this is where the translation from “still” becomes “silent” in that carol. Silent Night. In German its Stille Nacht. I know what you are thinking. But let us look at the etymology of the word “still”. May be harder for some, but I have the OED complete with the 240,000 spurious words listing.

“Still” originates from the low German and high Dutch word “Stille”. From the root “Stel” to put, or to stand. Not in motion. So, here is why we both sing Silent Night at this time of year as well as the reason for using the word “Silent” rather than “Still”. The sun at the solstices appears not to move higher or lower in the sky as it is reaching its highest point and/or lowest point. Hence it appears to be still. The slip to “Silent” occurs for two reasons. One, the musical cadence requires two syllables. And two, the deeper High German meaning of “Stel”, the origin of “Stille” has a secondary meaning of silent.

The song at Christmas is sung as an homage to the solstice. About and near when the recognized birth of Christ occurred. Save it to say, that if you are of the ilk that you have no place to stay, and you are overnighting in barns and hovels, your calendar work is probably a little fuzzy. The solstice is the time I believe.

Curl that coffee with some cheer Charmaine.

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

 

Freedom Fixing to File Fast Features

As being released comes with restrictions, time shortens when you have more of it. Weather releases the mind until precipitation precipitates the need for more space. Oh, there is no rain in space, only in Spain, as long as Spain includes the rest of the modern world.

Modernity brings the olde to the fore as antiquity brings all things new again. Hectic days ahead as I see them. I compatriot of mine stated, “Never finish the list.”. Wise words to the wary worker wending his way through the miasma. As the trial of the tribute trickle through my days, the list pushes one end off and leaves freedom on the new end filled steadily.

Stalking the stock of stores, looking for that last scrap of incidentalism needed for and other to fall off the end. After all, it’s the minutiae not the masterpiece to look for. Whence cometh the pairs two by two, you had a world of Animalia, we just had the arc. Can you bring current weather statements into your everyday palaver?

The Sic Fiddy is finally filling out, hopefully no more flailing in the breeze of the build. Liquidating some, bettering others. Tinge whitewashing of things dry, plant and planter potting as possible, integration of electrical inputs, a new tempest tamer, sundry others all posting progress as I posit here.

You too can be a number one. You too can be the latest. You too can make a different one. You too can go fast or slower as you would do when. Never end a sentence in a preposition. Push forward with successes and wash over your waste. No dwelling on dwellings that don’t matter. Be yourself ion the house of pride. No lyin’ there!

Appointments not positions are only ideas. Timelines are points to ponder not to vexate over. The world will still turn, Pig lady or not, Trumpster or DPRK atomization or not, will it come forth of fifth? In the tiny scheme of all of our individual worlds, it will no matter a dram of scotch which way the wall falls. As Frankie said, “Relax don't do it, when you want to go to it”. It will be done.

Make it Hot and Wet Miranda, Coffee is a beverage.

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.

Sharing The Shiv Before Another Swig

The darkness stared me down, and I fell to the tapestry on the floor testing my Gluteus Maximus. Not on the divan, denting my ego, but lower articulating my knees beyond comfort.  The Shiv fallen and away, out of reach by comfort.

Last night the Fem Fetales and I decamped to the local.  Lately luckier than the lesser laggards, we partied like it was 1999. Tryin' to run from the destruction, you know I didn't even care.  'Cuz they say two thousand zero zero party over, oops out of time.  So tonight I'm gonna party like it's 1999.

I was dreamin' when I wrote this, So sue me if I go to fast.  But that Shiv is a danger, I won’t let it last.  And now the Leopards are looking for their skin, the Kalahari vacuous of the spotted cats.  What I would do when I woke. Stuporous fuzz blown from my eyes.  Staring down the interloper snapping Kodachrome of my stance.

http://instagram.com/p/iH5v7cvbEF/  Copy and Paste into your browser thingy for the subject matter.

We weather the Pin and trest our lives to the Aether of the interweb thingy.  Formulating actions and watches as time passages show us the way.  Pinned, Poked, Liked, Joined and Followed, we parry and post to the N’th.

After rising from the fuzzy form below my butt, the Java an blend with the dairy, my dendrites pinging alive again in my cranium.  Where are those that thought through the storm with me?  Sallied and slid to the solarium possibly.  The miasma I perceive as thought, drives me down the road of rumination, the five “W”s and an “H”.

Nothing coming forth to dispel my thaumaturgy. Pleadance and supplication won’t break my spell.  Where are the drivers, the inputs, the pick-ups, the Ports not of any calling?

Stream it in small doses Lieselotte, let it 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.

Germany Generates Gerund Grounds

When Mad Dogs and Englishmen retire for respite within the confines and contructs, you know is hot.  The current luft ladden with wasser blankets our environs you don’t hear the naysayers expounding on the wacko of Waco bitumen melting mercury reports.  As mercurial as it is, the stifle is only louder than ole’ Archie Bunker would have it.

Tick Tick Tick,  that great southern yarn about the strife between races opens with the wagering on eggs frying on the Parthenon or not.  Seconds and minutes pass, then one bubble, a spurt, another crackle and then the whole ovum denaturing to its recognizable whiteness.  Drop your mouse now and go outside and see if you can flip and egg on your walk or drive.

Only after success will you not be so averse to the heat we are experiencing.   After all, heat is just a concept: you cannot touch it, lift it, drink it, or change it.  Even my Davidson by Harley sprigs off more heat than a roast tomato in Italy.  No heated truncheon can hammer through my armour of coolness.

Purgatory would be cooler in a freeze dried summer.  Roast some Java on my bean before I bust’da’move.  The weather is always on my mind as you are too.  Placating those with pulchritude gleaned from the orb above us.  Sol the source of all life beating on those wishing and not wishing for it.  Masses slathering massive amounts of SPF 1 billion on their appendages like salsa on a Tostito.

Will the desire for the sun be overpowered by the distaste for it?  Will those congregants be blessed with a tawny tan or be left the white ghostlike walking dead we fear?  Chalk white dirge dancers dosing at midday.  Baskers busking for bucks from the Sun God.  Each summer we heat our Java on hot stones baked with the mad dogs and Brits.

And alas my namesake has been born, Alexander’s Rag Time band will play me to the beach.  No Joe Louis here, and no George and Ringo starring in my parade.  I take full responsibility for Alexander being chosen.  Debate me not yee of little faith.

My cup runneth over Madge, not so full next time.

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.

 

 

Edgy Blown Egg Painting

Whatever would possess one to blown the goodness from an egg then layer it with colourations?  Creamy crunchy innards we won’t eat in 39 days, but devour scrambled with tomato sauce.  The position of prominence pre-empts all on this day of worship.   We heed, therefore we obey.

All the talk about the Lepus Laziness pooping out a few ova for the indigenous young’uns.  The mounted chicken being ridden by a Horny Hare, small eating appendages gripping unused alar adaptations for leverage.  No I found that on the humorous side.   Not ROFL funny, but quipish none the less.  Not as funny as “My ass is sore.” Response, “ What?”

But lest we belabor  the blessing of these days.  Spring is on the verge of dragging Southern Ontario out of the winter screaming and yelling that we don’t want to go.  April Fool’s Day, it snowed.  Again.

Hot days, summer in the city, back of my neck getting dirty and gritty, “Well your CD collection looks shiny and costly, how much did you pay for your bad Moto Guzzi.  And how much did you spend for you black leather jacket, is it you or your parents in that income bracket?”

Snowed and Froze rain again today now some 10 days hence.  The dated prose of the preceding post pages piercing my postdated foot stamping.  Frozen to the dog bone in my hair.  No different from a cave creature cro-magnum of champagne or not.  Still cold.  Still frozen.  I think I will leave the locale for less than adequate environs in the west.  Cow town for a coupla.

If youse’a know me and are hither, call me yon on the hand held communication device.

Perk a pot Persephone, pour slowly.

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.

 

 

 

 

 

Time Banking 10.1 Again! I Know it’s Not Two Point Oh Something.

Ok, I get it even if you don’t . The time toils toward the terminus, tentatively teasing terrestrials.  Whattttttttttt?  Perhaps too much for the entry level sentence; persistence will get you past the penultimate.  Why oh why does that little hour float, float ahead then back again.  When in savings, are we ahead or behind?

Don’t ask the banker.  Don’t ask the joker man, a cuz’ Sailor Sam might get dis-jointed.  A poor but cogent reference to the 1970’s but I egress…digress, no dress.   No verdant desire here for those times.  After all it’s a healer isn’t it?  So why would we want more?  Are we so bounteous with malaise that we don’t care about the floated hour?   Shall we do one more? Or why not three in numerous?

Just ponder the corpulence of those superfluous hours after laboring for the day.  Daylight till the cows come back to the animal shelter!  The Sir Sol burning into our retina, ultra corn flaking off our still burnt skin.  Geezer gliders on their Iron horses and highway couches burning off more hydrocarbons than ever before!.

Then Smash

Over night into the Chasm of despair as the rest of the modern world reels into mayhem back into regular time.  Travel and work would take a rest for three days as the world acclimatized again to the regular circadian rhythm of the non-nocturnal.

But not Saskatchewan, parts of British Columbia and some parts of the Yukon and Nunavut.

Whaaaaaaaaattttttttttttt?

Can you interrupt me with disrespect more than a smattering and in only a few passing minutes?  This spewer of spontaneous sagaciousness stops abruptly every time I hear that there are some small realms in the kingdom not keeping in lock step with the rest of us ovine.  How does this get past the great unwashed?   One month they bar hop and shop late on one side of the sliverous Province, the next on ‘tother?  Just Qui Tam these rubes can feel good?  Obstreperous?  Juvenile?  Delinquent?  Dubious?  Rebellious?  Get over yourself, get in step, follow the crowd, be a sheep, click click move it move it move it, its late move along.

Turn that torrent to coffee Tallahassee, and heed that provenance.

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.

 

 

 

 

The Watched Pot Never Grows, But Springs Ahead

In Greenwich they nominated for Spring coffee on February 25^th.  The earth shook, and the ground trembled.  But not in that sleepy town where whatnot turned to not what they did not do.  Nobody had a posting for the Spring Coffee Guy.  I toss my hat belatedly in that direction.

Now with more postings than I can be banned for, the last one only had a warning, Germany is still rated highest on my banned videos list, should I and perhaps not in jest this time, protesteth my abolishment for posting a family viddy?

Or perhaps find new ways of bolstering my position so couched in obscurity not to be found by the whole of Washington’s alphabet soup?  As I had doth and will further,  all the proclivities people have toward assuming that their non or real progeny or siblings or any other form or familia or genus might or might not be presently engrossed in Face Plant, I proffer my viddy materiel on every subscribed format  and media I am a member to.  (Never end a sentence prepositionally)

It’s a sad state of xenophobia when Demand Media drops my writing application like a Hot Banana.  However, I could conger a position in that less than esteemed habitué and sit back into a life of Reilly as I surf and write my way to the bottom of the lowest common denominator.  Pith and vinegar are obviously not on the menu at the Demanded writings of the “How To” crowds most desirous wants.

After all, I have been unacceptable, persona non grata, unwanted, superfluous to their needs, de trop, unseemly, invidious, unneeded, over the top, possibly not what we need, not a good fit, inessential, non-essential,  bombastic, unsought, supererogatory, unallowable, just plain unwanted, malapropos, and mostly palaverous and pleonastic at many a web site’s applications center.

Does that bother me?  Nopers.  It’s a cuz’in I can blather together my own straw man argument.  Do I need their 3 cents a word for contentious crap?  Nopers again on that account.  Thinkin’ I am un-connecting myself to the Guru as well.  Have offered a many proposal for scribbles and scribes, and with the odd negotiational e mail back and forth, nadda to come of it.

So I depart again from the unctuous trodding to the bottom of the lowest common denominator well of worthless content.  Past offers of guest columnists to this forum have also come up shy of a rational number.

Perhaps it’s back to Haiku on coffee?

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.