So the old Jesus thing is that if the Word has reached your ears and you do not put down your fishing pole and walk the path, hell awaits you. You were called but ignored it and then you missed the opportunity. Or some shit like that.
Well, folks, it’s End Game time in the wide world of Peak Everything. The powers that be have pretty much mapped out their course of action and what degree of cross fire you get pinned under is on you. If you’re rich I suggest taking the Paraguay option. 9 to 5ers with a permanent aversion to dirt and labor should relocate within walking distance to the nearest National Guard Armory – that’s where the bottled water will be handed out on the platform to the permanent residence camps where the tv is always on and the cafeteria serves three meals a day. And you lose because the work detail consists of ‘tater diggin’ crews or a cushy job in the laundry. Think “prison”.
Us slobs out here in Cunlick get to make hay while the sun shines and hide in the woods picking off marauders when the opportunity arises. Beating a pair of rancid overalls against a rock to get the caked on shit off. Interesting things in the stew pot and frying pan. “Bob ate a bunch of this wierd looking leafy stuff last week and didn’t get the runs… toss it in the pot or stir fry it with those grubs and skunk grease.” Waiting out the Disruption Period. Having the important stuff stashed in buckets and barrels in shallow trenches under the hedge rose making do with what you can load up and carry on your back in 5 minutes. Wood smoke and potblack. Bug bites and dozens of minor cuts and scrapes. Learning what a human really smells like, and then not noticing it at all.
Picture the “autonomous collective” in Monty Python’s Holy Grail. I love the line “he must be a king… he ‘asn’t got shit all over him”. But those of us who chose the “outside” will be free.
I know solar towers can be built for generating huge amounts of electricity dirt cheap. Tidal power. Windmills. Low Temperature Carbonization turning shale and tar sand into petroleum. Stirling engines running off of woodchips and algae. Wood gas generators bolted on old 9N Ford tractors and ‘64 Chevy trucks. Geothermal for the price of well casing and a drilling rig. All these and more if “The Price is Right”. The price being culling 90% of this rabbit/rat/bacteria like species and controlling the procreation of the remainder.
And I choose to remain. I will gladly burrow under three feet of dirt till the fallout subsides. I will run half naked in the forests turning over fallen trees for dinner and eating fairly unpalatable berry things and mud turtle. “Survivorman” without the camera gear. I will not stand and hold ground – the concepts of “ownership” and “mine” are what got us here in the first place, if I can’t be content with what the Earth provides, or what is left laying around from collapse I may as well march off to the FedGhetto and bitch about whats for dinner.
So everyone gets to make their own call. If you’re on this blog you know the basic components of the score. Starvation, gummint cheese doodles, or bugs for dinner. The dinner bell is being rung right now. Unless, of course, we all see the errors of our ways, begin to value our neighbors as ourselves, and voluntarily powerdown making sure no one suffers needlessly. I think I’ll reserve my wishful thinking to not having to abandon my chicken flock to a hungry mob coming down the road. That’s pushing it, I know, but you gotta hope for the best, eh?