Well, I am still here...

If you are actually interested in why I am writing this blog, why not jet over to the HOMEPAGE and check out the whole BLOG-Group?

Suicide note? Hell no! It was a depression note, get it? It was about being depressed, ok? As in: I am very depressed over the series of events that have transpired and conspired to rip my life apart one again. And so I wrote from the heart and in the moment, that’s all.

You know, I should just remove the damned thing from the site. Maybe I will. And why not? I am not bound by any real permanence am I? This blogging business might be “publishing” as they like to tell you bit it is a pretty damned limited and arbitrary audience that might actually read you shit. So it is not like I am chiseling hieroglyphics here or anything. You just hit the edit button, and write something else. Or just remove the shit completely. Hell, I could rewrite the blog to appear to have been completely something else and change the time stamp as well. Take me to court if you don’t like it.

“Your honor,” you could say “he said what he said and I want him dead!”
“Its all in your head what you say that I said.”
“I know what I saw. I read what he said!”
“So you say that you read some words that I said. And because you dread what you say that you read, you say to us now that my blood should be shed. Well, if this is your case it has been plainly said: You say what you saw were things that I said. But I say your honor that he never read these incredible things I allegedly said. I myself am too well bred, and never would have been so easily led. Where are these words that he says that I said? My thinking is that his wits have fled. I say call for a docor, examine his head! Maybe he should have just stayed in bed! Here your honor, look for yourself, read the words, read what I said. There are no such things as these things that he said. And you sir, can you prove sir, that indeed you can see these remarcable words that you say that I said? No you can’t, can you Ed? There is something quite different there written instead! Those words you inferred have never been said so your story is shit from a to zed. Really your honor, must we hear this Ned? He simply can’t PROVE a damned thing that he said…”

Sorry Doctor Suess…

But I am feeling physically better if that means anything. Plowing will do that to you. Yes, I plowed my what soon will be referred to as what WAS my field. And it is really hard in case you might like to know. Tricky deal. The plough itself handles actually rather delicately. I mean, it is not so delicate, but there is a trick to keeping the thing at the correct dept and in a straight line. The horse was really cool though. The horses here know their job so as far as that goes it was a lot easier than it could have been.

Basically there are a simple series of phrases that need to be known and delivered with some sense of urgency. Nu! Means go ahead and start marching in a straight line. BRRRRRR… with a rolling of the tongue means stop. Na mestye, on the place in Russian tells the horse to start walking directly beside the last bit of land that has not been plowed. Nazad! To the rear, in Russian is your reverse gear and basically that is about all.

And pretty much everyone has his or her own particular style of doing this. And pretty much everyone except for Slave uses what are known as “motney slovy”, bad words as it were. But I didn’t though. I mean explain to me why this poor fucking animal who has no life at all but to eat shit pull way overloaded carts and march up and down these crappy little fields need to be told they are prostitutes and idiots. NU!

And for just a little touch of dishing the dirt, Yasha’s wife Masha is the worst about this. Compassion for the horse is simply not in the ogres vocabulary. Beats him as well. Poor bastard. I don’t know if I mean the horse or Yasha, but then again, who cares either way.

But what I am trying to say here is that writing, as I learned in the university is rewriting. And so am I revising what I spoke of last time? Well, I can if I want to is all I am saying. I mean, I ain’t dead yet, regardless of how little people seem to care abut me or my problems. I may be on the last legs, but I am not dead.

But you know, my- uh, what soon will be referred to as what WERE my strawberries look really good after several hours of surgery. “The ground must be soft” was my mantra over the several days while I experimented with various ways to tend (prep?) this early-to-diver and ultimately delicious berry. There is a little under 150 square meters of strawberries to deal with. Maybe two hours work under the best conditions, but these were not the best. But in the end I finished and fed the little babies what they need to grow big and strong. The whole of the big apple is liking good actually and when next I speak, I should have managed to have planted several thousand potato plants, Sugar beets, carrots and cabbage.

All for the family.

I wrote a few other words that I felt after I wrote that phrase but, although you think you see what I said, I simply rewrote it instead.

More soon. And thanks for the letters.