I’m more a swirl of thoughts this morning, and less a focused beam (not intended as a joke but feel free to take it that way).  I’m not sure I have any art in me but I forgive myself in advance for whatever emerges.

First off, I haven’t spent much time commenting on the fire camp and life in it because it’s almost like an anti-environment.  If an author or a director had no idea how to sketch out a fire camp so they just spitballed, as vaguely as possible — that’s what it’s like here.  We’re in a huge dirt baseball diamond, depressed into the ground, so we couldn’t see very far out from where we are, even if it wasn’t smoky.  And it’s smoky 24/7, so the light changes from day to night with all the coy fakery of a school play.  The sun, moon, and stars are a hypothesis.  There’s a row of shitters across the way, diminished in the distance, and the minor city of tractor-trailers comprising the caterer mostly invisible but sort of mentally anchored off to the right, because you always anchor where food comes from.  The caterer is staffed entirely by young men who’ve had problems with drugs, alcohol, and incarceration, and they always say “God bless you” when I go for meals.  Because COVID, we can’t all eat together with other firefighters and contractors, as in previous seasons, so it’s a very compartmentalized affair and would be lonely without Nick and the bugaboos.  I mean, you just go grab your grocery bags of styrofoam enclosed stuff almost furtively, like a criminal, and then abscond back to your area of operations.

This is the worst season for there to be no group dining, because it would finally have been fun, with Nick.  I’ve always been a single resource on every fire in my life, before, and female.  The firefighting community has had anti-sexual harassment hammered into them for so hard and so long that not a single male will look at me, let alone talk to me, except comfy old curmudgeons who can’t be threatened into or out of anything, thank god.  I’ve had some really lonely meals on fires.  It would have been so great this season, because Nick is my perfect conversational counterbalance.  Whenever we talk to someone, usually one of us will vibe with them more than the other, and we just gracefully sort of step forward or step back depending, while still feeling easily connected to each other.

The other night, I got into a protracted conversation with the gray water driver (they finally found one).  Nick was alright for like five minutes with that guy, but I found him fascinating and really enjoyed our hour-plus long talk.  He’s one of those people who is funny on purpose, and also funny not on purpose.  Usually our gray water drivers are grandpa-aged, and indeed become temporarily absorbed into our family as additional little dog grandpas, often as not.  Or they’re monuments to occupational shame, #neverforget, except I already forgot that guy’s name.  The guy who sat under the tree all day while I did his job for him.

Anyway, this gray water driver is in his late 20’s and has that rascally energy that makes the blue collar world go ‘round.  And what I mean is, obligations and circumstances have conspired to focus his energies on trucking (there’s a baby mama; they don’t get along; but her parents are rich; but any help comes with strings attached; she already had a kid at 17 before they met; he raised and funded that kid and has her name tattooed on his arm; they had their own kid later, who is now three; that kid is old enough to truly resent Daddy being gone for work all the time; Daddy’s gone for work legit all the time because he bought his own truck to make more money so he could pay for baby mama’s college; baby mama never held down a job because baby at 17 and rich parents; baby mama is now currently bemoaning that she never got to party and go crazy when she was younger; this guy is working all the time to pay off the truck and hoping she’s not partying when he’s gone; etc and so forth).  Just, you know, the grinder.

His affect is kind of swashbuckling, like a guy who’s been knocked down a bunch of times and doesn’t take it personally but also comes up swinging.  He just seems like hell on wheels but necessarily channeled towards beneficial economic activities — like, he’s the more responsible adult in his world.  Which is crazy.  He’s very proud of his young daughter’s intelligence, which seems to be a side effect of her very strong feelings about things.  “I’m not just sayin’ that cause I love her,” he vehemently denied my absolutely zero protest on that point.  “I love my brother’s kids too but I told him just the other day: dude, your kids are fucking retarded.”  He’s extremely honest and unfiltered lolllll.

Nick and I were both mildly surprised he’s not gay, or doesn’t think he is?  Not like city gay, but country gay.  He also seems like the kind of guy who would kick your ass for asking, not that I would, but in all his energy, boomeranging around, there’s a hint of that.  And for what it’s worth, I think all men are a little bi-curious in some part of their soul :). I don’t think the same about women, necessarily, and I can’t explain why or why not.  Just seems that way.

So Nick checked out of this conversation early, because he was like “that guy’s just a lot,” but on our last fire a similar thing happened in the vice versa.  There was a nineteen year old gal that was the daughter of the handwash station lady, and she and Nick dived into a several hour long conversation that quickly went deep.  The girl and me were like oil and water, there was just no desire for connection on either side.  She was honestly too much of a mess for me, but Nick has a level of patience and a knack for spontaneous mentorship that I just don’t.  She had a negative narrative about herself and her life that was set in motherfucking stone; anchored in having spent 6 years as a blossoming young gymnast, and then an injury, and then the end of her life as she knew it, except life still goes on just to spite you it seems.  Imagine, knowing for a fact the good part of your life is over, at age nineteen.  It’s all downhill from here.

She was very, very, very fixated on the specifics of her injury, compounded by another injury thereafter, sustained on horseback (or, in that moment, offhorseback technically), having attempted to replace gymnasticking with horseback riding.  I don’t know why anyone who’s injury-averse would pursue horseback riding — it’s like a fast track to broken limbs.  I’m not knocking it, I’m just saying.  But there was deeper stuff too — a couple suicide attempts, a strange despair at weight gain.  It’s not strange to despair weight gain but she almost seemed to brandish it as evidence of the severity of her loss, and how unwilling to be talked into the rest of her life she was.  And a fear of men pervaded everything.  For being the epitome of what, in Seattle, they’d refer to as a “toxic male”, Nick is actually highly skilled with his energies and able to facilitate psychological space for people that they don’t even know they need.  Unlike me — I mean, I caught some of this and was like, I’m fuckin out, I got nothing for this chick.

There was a really funny moment in fact when the girl ventured a litany of reasons and proofs her life was over and her body unsalvageable, at age nineteen, which Nick had none of.  He was like, nope, nope, nope, that’s not true.  She literally raised her voice to continue the litany and Nick was belly laughing, making scathing but casual reference to his own age of 31.  Meanwhile I’d just exited the trailer office to grab another water, and I’m 44, hearing this good natured argument about at what age it’s all downhill, and I was like ‘good lord, I’m going back to what I was doing’.

It’s crazy how early people start writing themselves off as too old.  We find meaning in motion, not our own old belly button lint.  Pick something and do it, and then if you can’t do that, pick something else.

Anyway, Nick has a way of making people feel truly special, which is sometimes all you can do and maybe all you need to do.  He’s very careful about how that’s perceived by females, of course, as am I talking with men.  Being in each other’s company, it’s much less likely to go wrong.

So yeah, I’m sad we don’t get to have more social time on fires, eating meals in groups as was always the case before.  Being isolated by regulations and socked in by smoke, it honestly feels like a…snow globe life.  We’re not even that busy.  There are 1800 people on this fire but most of them distributed throughout a series of spike camps, and there is another shower unit at one spike, so we’re here mostly for the catering staff and some miscellaneous folks.  That’s great for us.  Nick has cabin fever and is ready to re-enter the normal world, soon, and eat reasonable food again, and tackle the big work of getting all our stuff ready for Hawaii.  “Oats, and two salads a day,” he fantasizes, but then catches himself.  “Sorry — I don’t mean to rub it in.”

“I’m fine,” I say.  “I’ll just be fire camp fat for a little longer than you.”  Staying here to pull down an extra nine or ten grand is definitely worth it, with all the expenses we’re facing.  I really can’t wait to be sleek again, though.  This food makes us puffy.

My dad wants me to buy like $2k worth of Theta right now, which seems…a lot.  I’ll buy some today, but I don’t know about 2k.  On the bright side, plane tickets are dirt cheap.  We can’t fly to Hawaii on Southwest for complicated reasons involving the dog immigration/customs process (which seems arbitrary in many ways), but Phoenix to Honolulu was $160 the other day.  $160!  Insane.  But I mean, why would anyone go anywhere when it’s just a fourteen day quarantine on arrival.

Nick and I aren’t worried about quarantine, except, you know, as a violation of our Constitutional freedoms.  We have audiobooks to narrate and weights to life and bugaboos to play with and salads to eat, and all that on top of my wonderful dad and brother’s company, plus unpacking and getting settled, so frankly it’s fine.  It’d be so nice if cryptos would really come through for us, late in the year, so we’d have a nicer cushion.  Or like ten million dollars.  You never know, with cryptos.

I feel like I had to get some shit off my chest in blog form, last couple of weeks/months, regarding BLM/Antifa, COVID, Cuties, all of it.  I think I might have exited that maelstrom.  No, too early to say.  It’s, like…important for me to get refocused on next-level stuff, which contextualizes and renders broader perspective to the whole ordeal.  But it’s also important for me to deny and reject and disown, from the roots of my fucking soul, a multi-pronged, long-game, cultural and political coup operating right out in the open, under the guise of safety and social justice, clearly funded and coordinated, and somehow…fooling?…otherwise smart people?  People so woke they find themselves arguing for lockdowns and cop killings one day, and kiddie porn the next, and they couldn’t even tell you why.  I just can’t emphasize enough how much of a NO that is for me, as you’ve probably observed.  I just don’t care.  If that makes sense to you and feels progressive, go fuck yourself, I don’t care.  The list of people I ever want to hang out with again is getting shorter on the one hand, but longer on the other hand.

So yes, it’s good to get that out but also, come on Hannah.  There’s bigger fish to fry.  Gross, I hate that idiom.  There’s bigger thoughts to think.  And also smaller thoughts but more pleasant.  I was somewhat surprised to find that MK Ultra wasn’t actually a conspiracy theory but a legit, declassified thing, that ostensibly ended but realistically is still going on, as per minor research several months ago.  I found a neat guy on YouTube named Michael Jaco who is a remote viewer and former Navy Seal.  And remote viewing incorporates elements of time travel?  I don’t know much about it but it’s not any crazier than the headlines, or shit that’s already been declassified.  He’s rough around the edges, by no means a polished vlogger — he just pleasantly pontificates in his back yard and occasionally fucks up the tech aspect, and just fixes it in stride with an earnest but abashed demeanor.  He says that his insights have been accurate but obscure — like the right number of COVID cases on the one hand but uncertainty as to whether that number represented facts or manipulation, on the other hand.  (Manipulation, as it’s turned out.)

And that the tool of COVID is by no means played out — and it is a tool.  I said this early on — wow, turns out you can put the whole world on house arrest without a shot fired, and not only will people *not* oppose you; they’ll take anyone who disagrees and eat them alive.  At that point, it didn’t even matter to me whether it was a real or confabulated virus, naturally occurring or lab-made; simply that an enormous hack of our freedoms was far easier than I’d realized.  So Fauci has now recommended everyone “hunker down” for the Fall and Winter — we’re still at 1000 deaths per day.  I’m sure that, whatever resistance to these hoax narratives has taken root, it’s still well within the tolerance of the planners’ planning.  Remote viewer guy said maybe bacteria added to food supply that could mimic COVID symptoms and effects, or perhaps the release of another strain — plenty of cards left to play in that hand.  Interestingly, he said that he didn’t “see” civil war, in his viewings, despite a lot of people’s speculations in that direction.  He recommends people gtfo of the “Deep State” cities, the Dem-run cities, because there will be violent revolts against the endless and arbitrarily draconian status quo there, following the election.  I’m so glad my brother left Seattle.

I’d love for there not to be a civil war, unless the alternative was, you know, worse.  More than anything, all these guys like the vlogger, David Icke, the way-out-there “nutters” whose interpretation of events comes into clearer and clearer focus as much as I’d prefer them not to, all tend to say the same interesting thing: higher states of consciousness are the way.  Love, connectedness, meditation, calm, clarity, fearlessness.  Basically the opposite of those states towards which we’re constantly encouraged.  The cabal or Deep State or global pedo-ring or Satanic element, however you want to frame it, have no access to these states, by definition.

When I think about myself, I don’t feel I have access to higher states particularly — whatever this zip code is, I’m usually right around here — but I can feel that my state of consciousness yields a reasonable degree of clarity, most of the time.  My dad thinks about it in terms of different patterns of brain waves, corresponding to the receptive mind versus the monkey mind.  My brother, who meditates frequently, says that a drowsy, timeless state (yet not sleepy per se) is something he’s practiced himself into, and that feels very good.  I think there’s some changes I could make to improve my calmness and receptivity most days, throughout the day.  “Reaching for a thought that yields a feeling of relief” is a skill I constantly forget about, then remember to do, then forget about again, then remember again.  It’s kind of fun to just check in with yourself about any ambient (or acute?) anxiety, recognize it *as* anxiety, and then reach for a thought of relief.  The thoughts that yield the fastest and biggest relief, for me, often don’t have anything to do with whatever I’m anxious about, so it’s not necessarily connected in a logical way.  And, for what it’s worth, I have always surrendered to states of sleep, drowsiness and relaxation quite easily, which I don’t think is a bad thing, particularly from a brainwave standpoint.

Nick woke up, in the course of this blog, and Milo shortly thereafter vomited into his shoes, and it occurred to us that there should be a little dog olympics.  Vomiting into shoes would be one event; absconding with socks; shivering and barking at the same time; a dys-synchronized breathing event; seeing who can get the most poop stuck in and around their butt.  Barking at things from behind and beneath other things.  Rejecting perfectly good food.  Having to be carried back from walks.  Trying to get between their owner and the owner’s cell phone.  A pajama contest.  Begging to be picked up.  Struggling to be put down.  Getting fussy.

That’s all I can think of.  I may go back to bed, that was so relaxing.  Happy higher states, everyone.