Archive for February 8th, 2021

For those of us who, at the World Economic Forum in Davos, were recently referred to as the "useless class", take heart. You too can take part in a global experiment to test the efficacy of the "pretty sure" cure, and no doubt, so much more.

As technological progress outpaces its unintended consequences, and tax dollars oooozze into the pockets of peddlers of potions and peril, the marginalized continue to be entrapped by dispassion's icy grip, and the useless class, as it turns out, has its uses.

Hunger for the jab. Freedom with the jab. Have jab, will travel. Must have jab.  Thank you sir, may I have another.

Now, I'm no conspiracy theorist, but if after jab/jab, I take on the smiling sneer of Bill Gates, the bald pate of Bezos and the musk of Elon, alert my next of kin and prepare the funeral pyre. My dna has surely been compromised and I will perish by my own hand, before the Chimera has her way.

I envision the vaccine commercial of the near future, as reports worldwide come in citing side effects, some of which are metaphysical.

Voice of Barack Obama, "Moderna Vaccine, proven to be ninety six percent effective in producing antibodies against covid nineteen and a host of mutations. Get it now baby, for grandma's sake."

Voice of fast talking generic voice over guy, "Side effects may include, nausea, projectile vomiting, humming tongue, lumpy diarrhea, Jimmy leg, floaty out of body experience, expulsion to the Tibetan realm of the Hungry Ghosts, a guided tour thru Dante's Inferno and an acid flashback of that time you saw your mom as a Gorgon." Available now at CVS parking lots and Boogaloo Boys enclaves everywhere (just look for the aloha shirt). We take bitcoin.

The eugenics stew is simmering in the cauldron, filled with chunks of A.I. solutions to the "useless class", when Corporatistas no longer need a stinkin' workforce. Seasoned with a fine blend of xenophoblia indica, ego manioc root, cilantro and bonkersauce, these titans of the World Economic Forum swoon with each spoon. And you thought President Malarkey was gonna make things better.

Meanwhile, earthbound, wwoofer Caroline, a self professed "birder" from Vancouver has discovered and identified my favorite bird, whose four to five part song compels a smile (every time) and who I have never been able to see, no matter if its right above me and I lie down to stare up at the sound. It could poop on my forehead and I wouldn't see it.

Turns out, that's because its an itty bitty warbler with a big throaty voice, dressed in grey and hiding in the sway of limbs and leaves at the treetop. Like the jazz cat off to the side of the stage, lighting it up at just the right moment, behind a screen of boozy smoke. Seems to follow me around the farm too. Feelin' the love.

These little things keep it grounded around here. Keep it connected and therefore real, as in reliable, stabilizing and mostly entertaining. Miss Caroline has some premium octane enthusiasm for all things avian and her delivery of the discovery was a high point, etching its way into the annals of Rancho lore. A tapestry of tales richly woven.

News of the World: Gritty, Dystopian, Fantasy Docudrama, nudity, slow burn, some smoking.

Where oh where do we go from here? Buy the love, sell the fear?

The mango trees in full and glorious flower are the most beautiful reminder of how magnificent the harmonic forces of nature, combined with the senses can be. The faith instilled by witnessing the miraculous at play. Totally mesmerizing. Good herb too.

I stood by one tree, in the full sun. Pungent, slightly off fragrance flowers enticing all but honey bees to have at it. The more I stared, the more there were. House flies on down to the tiniest wasps flying the mission of a lifetime. A riot of Yin.

In spite of wind, rain, cold and more rain, the flower panicles remained resilient and mildew free. Further signs of increasing health in the orchard. And I would say, as something of an old hand, that there could be a crap ton of fruit this season.

When wandering the orchard, one has to suppress the o.m.g. reaction to a minimum, so as not to embarrass the poor tree and cause the dear to drop some young uns' out of the jitters. Humans must enter a kind of swoon state in order to begin to hear the many dialects of Mangonch (the root dialect of all the great mango tribes). And for goodness sake, tread lightly, imagining yourself a gentle breeze, everywhere at once, one with the fragrance.

Market 10 to 2 Mondays, farm offerings on the website.

The more you show, the more we'll grow.