Can you feel it yet, northern hemisphere reader?  Ever so slowly, the days are getting shorter.  The change is barely perceptible, easy to miss…just a few minutes each week, the Night lingers a little longer before surrendering to the Dawn each day, and each day the Sun flees our skies about a minute earlier.

N.P.: “In The City – from ‘The Warriors’ Soundtrack” – Joe Walsh

It’s been a hectic few days, Reader.  But things are progressing nicely, the occasional setback be damned.

N.P.: “Take It So Hard” – Keith Richards

Happy birthday, HST.

N.P.: “Lawyers, Guns and Money” – Warren Zevon

You can add Arboreal Engineer to my list of credits if this works.  I’m trying to use one tree to save another tree via grafting and a couple of other tricks I picked up when I was living on The Ranch.  That and a few other armchair R & D projects have been keeping me busy recently, but totally worth it: I’m making significant scientific in-roads.  Perhaps I should procure a pith helmet.

N.P.: “Palomino” – Jolly Jumpers

Americans are so pathetically eager to be governed.  They seem to be desperate to be told what to say and how to act.  It’s pitiful and depressing.  Oh, of course not you, Dear Reader…you and I, we’re not like The Herd.  No, we’re better than that, goddammit.  We Know What’s We’re Doing.  Not like these other clowns.

N.P.: “Switchblade” – Link Wray

Remarkably unproductive day.  At least that’s what it felt like.  Still managed to be exhausted at the end of it.

N.P.: “So This Is the Famous Suicide Squad” – John Murphy

I can’t use the heat as an excuse for not writing today, Dear Reader…I was just too busy with life and stuff.  And these existential crises/tsunamis aren’t helping anything.
Jose and the Army of Gardeners sprayed fertilizer all over the grounds today.  Thus, The Shed smelled vaguely like a garden shop/nursery all day.  At one point I stepped outside and was shocked by the legion of flies that had suddenly descended to have sex with the grass.  Lawn coitus.  It was grotesque.

N.P.: “Purple Haze” – The Cure

Heat Strike: Day 5: 105°F
I really hate summer days in this fetid desert.

N.P.: “Come On Come On” – Nashville Pussy

Heat Strike: Day 4: 113°F

But totally off the record here, dear reader, why the fuck did I just pay $4.25/gallon for gas?  Gas!  Not whiskey, not liquid valium…just shitty-ass gas.  I ask, you’ll remember, as someone who hasn’t watched the news since January.  …The hell’s going on?

And not off the record but directed solely at like-minded registered voters of the Dismal State of California: I will be voting for Kevin Kiley in the recall election.  I approve of his message.

N.P.: “Resignation” – Paul Cauthen

Heat Strike: Day 3: 115°F

N.P.: “Rockin’ Is Ma Business” – The Four Horsemen