The Coffee Guy's blog

Serenity not Solitude Switched to Sympatico

As movement along the timeline continues, we shape and shear our life and longings.  Passage happens with the morphing of needs and wants.  Without willingness to change stagnation occurs.  As in other worlds I have known, my Muse has altered settings and sessions.

To be inspired is to be honoured with thoughts and ponderings of possibilities as well as benignancy.  As a society, the motion of ideas through language and communication is how new ideas and concepts are born.  Once bourne, these ideas meld into common usage and norms, progress is made, and the life of the cogent progresses.

I singularly delve into that which is for nought.  With and without those in my midst.  Amid change and charter is where the options appear.  The what of the why and how it comes from where when who gets them under the skin of awareness.  To peel back the skin of onion only reveals more skin-like membranes.

To those of whom I have assisted, and to those who have aided in my own ontogenesis, my gratitude is shown with my subjugation to greater randomness and disjunction with the status quo.  I veer fro and to agin’ the wind.  Test the waters and conjoin two or three ideas not like the others.  Read.  Observe.  Take in.

Our travel through time is an unstoppable reality.  As we grow our world grows.  We see and have seen more.  We lose and gain knowledge as the pipe of our cranium fills and overflows.  To take one thing for granted leaves us open for downfall.  Test and stress the limits of the world around.  I have always had one or two fires burning in the hearth of life.  Now I crave and relish the unknown more than ever.

May my Muse always challenge me.   How my mind minds things I am doing and my mind is thinking about.

Make it Macchiato Maria, gotta be sweet on you.

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 Our Sake, Goodness Sakes!

The Art is not the reason, the art is the subject, not the object.  There is no reason in Art.  The eye, ear, or touch, takes it in and the subject is processed by the mind.  Rarely do two minds process in the same way.  It is a pleasure when the minds meet in the process.  I smile each time.

Some art becomes obvious and immediate, and some needs to gestate in the mind.  The mind’s eye must make dendritic connections before full appreciation can be achieved.  Time can make the eye and brain wander, paths and courses less travelled by.  Take the fork and knife your way through a piece, if you cut a similar swath as another, again smiles all around.

To watch the process can also be enjoyable.  To see the effluvium entering the eye and the corners of the lips twisting in question.  The apparent engulfing of visual stimuli forcing its way into the brain through ocular receptors and the resulting widening of the look.  Interpretation manipulated by one’s history and growth.  A smile arises as appreciation grows.

To see the detail and the big picture, in context and with understanding of the artist.  To parse the paint and/or medium with the thought that there was intent.  Fulfilling the mind’s need for input while straining the range of understanding.  This exercise feeds your thoughts and nourishes the cognizance of the world as it is.  A smile reflects both appreciation and pleasure.

As patron to doner, as plaster moves through clay to oil, the where and the what become less important.  The message received through perception, different for each body, is that which has the import to move.  True sight, tactile reception, and aural connectivity draws the interest clearer and with insight.  Whence the body reacts with a smile, appreciation has been reached.

I smiled and saw smiles a lot then.

Smash me with a splash of sugar in my Joe today, Sally.

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.

Dungarees Diligently Distinguish the Desired

Revisiting is not the norm, however repetition can both be comical and a reminder.  All blues are not the same, some are light, some are dark and some make you cry.  Thought is the origin, not the result.

From whence cometh the cotton habiliments?  Leg worn and knee scuffed, true or actuated dyes worn thin through ardour.  Truth be known, there is only one true.  The one which fits each time, the one that shapes as known, the one that wears as belief, the one that has proven to be “the” one.

Passing judgement is a tough course.  You have to have the resolve and steadfastness to be believed and followed.  Inner knowledge can be swayed as fashions trend here and there.  Fro and to with the likes of Parisian critics pining to be on the inside.  No, my statements were true before and hold water in the watered-down world of the 24-hour news cycle.

Cycles on and circuitous arguments for others pale by distinction not only because of weak premises, bet because seams, zips and button cannot be closed or clothed.  Clotted cream courses my veins at age and the tried never gets tried by courtesans.  Dissagrweemnets I have staved off with fact and fervour.   Fakes and foibles of others cannot budge my belief.  Cogito ergo sum.

Let the Levis rest Lannah, I need a dark espresso 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.

Sun and Swill on a Sunday

As the gold orb rose, and the Riff Raff rousted, plans proceeded preciously preening probable uses of the hours.  It only lasted a few, and I was out for it all.  As air nearing the lake to the east became cooler, we rode west young man.  Into the reserve not using mine.  The S was sipping but for a few needed twists to catch up at times.  And I did.

Fresh and nippy, burping and squawking at the beginning, expected after a long cold winter.  All that should and could tan did by all reports.  Some had donned too many and some not enough.  Herds and heards about as we wended our ways.   Each decision based on which was the turniest, and which would deliver the most fun. 

Hill and dale welcomed up at each juncture.  Some on muscle power had us using the French contractor routes.  Some gravel and some lined, most were free of encumbrances.  Sightseeing stops added and passed the golden orb hung up all day.  Stopping for a tube steak and pommes frites added a fresh resolve to rip’r again. 

Thinking of others and pass times of theirs, glad that all would be out that day.  As expected, vintage and resto’s shared the bitumen readily and often.  Shined up and ready for the ocular receptors.  Playing “my car, your car” in my head.  Would I wonder if?  Spring breezes pushing and pulling on my decisions on which direction would be next.  See a turn, miss a turn, take a turn for the better.

Each dodge and weave a new sense and sensibilia.  Winter begone my friend.  The super-tropics brings a shorts summer, stilted again this year with a shortened spring.  Eagerness to make rotations on the twos, decisions to be made on which ones.  I try to keep the wear and tear even, but sometimes the decision is made for me by the destination.

T'was good to get out twisting and turning till the sun tipped off the horizon.  Next day, next bike, next ride, next adventure.

Make the steam curl Maria, I like the aroma that way.

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.

Educate and Emulate, Encourage and Enlighten

The term 'education' is the noun form of the verb educate. It comes from the Middle English educaten; coming from the Latin term educare, educatus meaning 'bring up, rear'; linked to educere meaning 'to lead forth' or 'bring out'. The suffix 'ion' refers to a particular action or process. It could also refer to the result of the same.

What the result is, is learning.  As it turns out, from the Middle Dutch leeren, Dutch leren.  Is it by coincidence, nature or nurture that we have a revelation that from information, you can get to knowledge?  Cogito ergo sum.  This does not mean that just because you are here, you know.  It must be either delivered or encouraged to be brought forth from that which has already been given.

From what we give, is what can be gleaned.  Nothing given, nothing gained.  The zero-sum game played here is unnerving at best.  What is it that we should give?  What is it that we are trying to deliver?  Air, water, land, sound, sight, touch, and taste.  All methods of conveyance.  The receiver must be aware there is something on the way; “I sent you something, didn’t you get the tracking number?”.

My German supplier has a subtle way of delivering the tracking number for which I wait endless days, weeks, and months for consummation of the contract.  Here in the instant world of the interweb thingy and Amazonian deliveries, I ponder the image of arrival.  Daily I get no education from this.  Perhaps weekly there comes a smidgeon of Pidgeon droppings of information bringing my level high.

To end the process of education, one needs to lack cognition.  Lacking cognition means you are no longer there.  Dementia proves this wrong.  It’s the delivery method which must change as well as the receiver.  We still orate, “pick up the phone”, “dial the number”, “tape it”, and many other phrases from the past.  No referential exercise to learn this from other than the intention of language.

Intonation and visual clues lead to odd conclusions.  Even in trended linguistic learning occurs on the streets of the virtual world.  We need more people red pilled into the fact we are at A.C. 646!  Keep your distance.

Make it eddy Edith, some movement in my Cuppa would be nice.

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.

Trending Technology Tempts Trial Teachings

We try to keep apace with Tech in our lives at what expense?  I posit that and arithmetic increase in productivity with said device comes at a geometric time investment in learning the unit.

I am aware of bodies that MUST have the must haves in the tech world.  Phones, Tabs, GPS, Com units, TV’s, Computers and programs and the like.  Now me I want to max out the life and usefulness of any item.  At the same time minimize my down time used on upgrading my cognitive balance and understanding and knowledge of anything.  

The brain and storage therein are like a pipe: once full, if you continue to put stuff in one end, something has to come out the other.   I like to fully mature and milk every last iota outta whatever is in mine before I do a data dump.

Sossa you take the next Gen Phone thingy whatever out of the box.  You drag it out after passing all the security questions and devices to hinder pilferage at the retailer’s slack space that have been imbedded in the package.  The ON switch is now different, moved, hidden, or better yet, only a virtual switch.

Now ON, you have seventeen security questions, zero of which you have written down the answers to.  These are now used for a reboot or battery replacement, or theft recovery situation.  Moving on, it asks to transfer any and all information via some virtual magic from any random number of old devices, into this new device.  Sillyly you agree and the screen changes and goes into some unstoppable process mystically selecting what and where, which and what, is interred, imbedded, updated, translated, reformatted, or worst, deleted in transfer, from somewhere to someplace.

After the cold sweats stop, and you have attempted through other devices and people and programs to find out what is happening, the process stops and some new foreign screen appears.  Ah Ha Moment!  Great I have a new thingy!  As you stare at the new Home Screen in awe.

Seventeen starving hours later you open your first App.  The friendly touchy feely, beautiful shiny new device goes Black Screen.  It asks for a password which was one of the security questions when you initially turn the device on.  It needs this to update the App!  Having not written these down, you try a couple.  ZZZZAAAAPPPPP!  The screen reduces to an ever-reducing screen shot getting smaller and smaller……fade to black.

On-line on another thingy, the Googler says you need to call tech to get a restart.  In the back of you mind you KNOW they are going to ask you those seventeen security questions.

Now once the lovely new device is up and running 3 days later. Each time you open an App it asks to update and you finally realize even the time cost in updating, is not worth the time to invest in that.

Milk it till it pooches puppies.  There is no getting the unproductive time of the learning curve back.  It’s called a curve because its geometric in the time it takes to execute.  Your usage is measured in straight time, hence arithmetic.

Make it with some milk Martha, foam it a bit too.

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

Mask Myth Miasma Mollifies Mobs

 

You ask and hitherto consider yourself denied.  Regulations are not laws of neither physics or moralities.  Something Hume might had heard or heralded.  Aske your self not what your mask can do for you, but what others can do for your mask.

Askew is neither off nor abhorrent.  Altered is both odd and obvious.  Asunder is not bold or bright.  Abhorrent is not a Karen state of mind.  Can you consider the confines of Covid consternation?  Abolitionists came from Ambrosia seeking truth through the abyss of information.

Asinine asking for an abyss to burst while claiming ailments of asthmatic proportions will not wash.  Wear what you swear.  Smile inside your wearage, I cannot breathe my fumaric waste any more than the last person to die of cleaner air.  I exhale at solar temperatures and my visual aids steam up instantly; hence I don’t read anything inside.  Not using my outside vision.

Obviosity of obfuscated messages be damned.  Laser guided by past visitations gets me around said domiciles or distinguishing detours. That French Contractor gets all the jobs!  If I touch your touche, it could be my territory or tract.  No trash here. I surmise my blindness is as common as a commoner in a commune.

Up sided, downsizing assists us all in indebtedness.  We get the tea so we pay the Man.  Bostonians included.  Balderdash pushes social media to the brink of irrelevance.  Lest we dispute the silly and ignore the mania, we may ourselves become part of the nonsensical solutions.

Are we really in new times?  Are we destined to facialize for a fortnight more?  Will the second nothing engender us to become perciod?  Schooling through such that it is? 

Shorter is better Sheila, make it black.

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

Its Time to Revisit Time Banking Again

Blogged about back in the time when time was not as valuable as it is now. Perhaps this makes it a worthwhile time saving venture. No investment necessary. Positions are open. Do not apply on line easily. This is for serious applicants only.

It’s a simple time saver. There are those times when there is not enough time to complete a task or job. Then there are those times when there you lollygag about wasting time just because that task or job needed less time than you planned for. Parenthetically, never end a sentence in a preposition.

Sos’a you understand acrectly, you have both limited time, and time surpluses. The trick it to be able to take those surpluses and transfer them to the deficiencies. Time banking. I know this sounds absurd, but accountants do this with funds all the time…no pun intended or implied.

When you are on the jobs when you are just putting in time to fill the void, you take that time and put it in the Time Bank. Then when your job is prolonged, you take those units of time, be they days, hours, minutes, or seconds, and draw them out of your Time Bank.

I know this sounds a little absurd at first. The same issue was with standardized time across the world at first. One of our own no doubts solved that. Flemming devised the time zone system used to this day in most of the modern world. So, flash forward a coupla hundred years and we are ready for the next big system update. Time Banking.

It’s a small thing for everybody to buy into. It’s the Everybody which is critical. Not local, not regional, not country wide, not on one continent. World wide. No web left unaccounted for. Even the lefties and the indentured, and dentured. Young and old as it were. It’s a total buy in. In fact, everybody gets the same time and works on the same time.

Efficient people bank time, slackers don’t get any more. There is no interest. You can’t bank 100 hours then pull 115 out in a couple of years. Simple in and out accounting. Done by you, for you, in time. Those of you who like their present time, will be even on their account most of the time.

Make it a nice dark one this time Tina.

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

Blocking the Backing Boldly while Brandishing a Bivalve

Bespoken and bespectacled, I swore never to utter mud slinging slurs on curs and vipers of the world. Too late. It was a playground thing that you couldn’t swat a kid with glasses. Why was that? Had I been smarter not younger I might have procured a set of fakies at the time. Bruises showed differently.

It was a country school for sure. A place where roast woodcock for lunch was a normal thing to see. Blood was drawn every recess, and teams were picked for talent first, filler second. Near to everyone came on a bus. Ours took an hour each way. In the warmer months we would opt to ride our bikes the 10 or 12 miles through the unthawed back roads in spring to school.

Times now a parent won’t allow a teen to walk 30 feet alone let alone some order of kilometers. Not much in the woods those days, fox, bear, deer, racoons, and sundry other vermin. Some good for eating some not. On the same hand drivers on those roads took some liberties. On a lane and half wide road, there is not much space if you are cutting the corner.

The ditch at times was a welcome resting place when one of the Thompson brothers would come by spewing dirt and gravel on the wrong side of the road. We would still get there before the bell rang. Stopping to skip stones, push down a punky tree, or just chasing down some mink with fish, we pushed on.

The road home in reverse was calmer, but we were already hungry in the first mile or so. Less kibitzing on that ride. Down the hills, head pushed forward for that ultimate speed attainment. Yup, saw a few in the ditch from that too. The grind back up would prove we were hungrier than we thought.

Never knew a lock on a bike or a house or a car until my 20’s. The ole Chevy S15 didn’t even need a key to start. Close the door walk away. If you really needed it, I guess you could have it. Wouldn’t get far, everyone knew it was ours and would confront you if you were not family driving it. More than a tank to clear the area of those in the know.

Bobby knew it back then and I s’pose it's more so now. These times they are a changing.

Make it Black again back again Bob

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

 

Coiled and Waiting

Building a motorcycle has a lot of waiting involved. Its not all about the parts, its about the post.

I have built a few, roadworthy Bikes over the years, I could have built dozens, but the transit of inanimate objects does not come by galactic transporter technology. There are no next day Amazon parts, there are no drop by and pick them up parts, there are no guaranteed next day deliveries, and there are no parts that just come up on your social media feed that make you say, ”hey, exactly what I need!”.

The black kettle has been calling the stove black a’til its black and blue. Blued steel, sometimes not the goal at any rate. Where does this stuff come from? Then the thing you find in Australia or Indonesia arrives in two days. Regardless of locale, THAT part you want will take a week or two. Or even a fortnight!

Then there is the precious question of whether or not the nefarious cortege will have laden your bindle, you right, I said bindle, with government allotted unfunded taxation. Read duties. Believe me, the only duty my parts have is to fit and operate as advertised.

Now the path to the build is prone to popular waiting periods of all strife. Rolling the rear wheel around slowly to ensure that all the links in a chain follow the smaller sprocket without a hint of a jump. Jump indicates the need for a new chain, i.e. Waiting. Turning the crank while doing static timing to see if the light goes out. Not out, more waiting for a new set of points or ignition plate.

Waiting for the chromer, or painter, or wheel lacer. All this waiting has two waits to consider. One, that the job is being done, and two that they don’t call you and say it’s the wrong doo dad, and THEY have to wait for someone else to procure a thing’a’ma’bob before they can get back to you.

There can only be one good wait, that moment when your partner walks into your garage and hands you a glass filled with a substance to calm your nerves in it. Unwanted waiting can be good.

There are the short waits too, installing new lights and waiting for the illumination of the world as you finally press that button and the circuit is closed. It works! That time you are ready to pull out the kick tab and depress that lever and the engine roars to life for the first time and on the first kick! Short wait. The occurrence of your tire inflation and there are no hisses. The stand back and look at the stance, and you say, “That’s what I was looking for.’. No Waiting.

But commonly that uncommon wait for someone you have no control over controlling your life with a noncommittal, soon, or next week, or I posted it Tuesday. Currently coiled around waiting for coils, makes me think of the hour count, or the day count, or the millennial count. I know it’s coming from afar, don’t care.

I need the concrete confirmation of diagnoses being accurate. I need it now.

Slip a jolt of Java in that Justin, not voting for you anyhow.

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