The summer fires are burning out of fuel.  Perhaps the end of the summer is now announced by the smoldering embers turning an ashen hue.  Things are indeed turning for the season.

Already the Home Depot has pumpkin-themed items out, and Chriskwanzchunakamas is just around the corner and we’re already getting out our inflatable lawn ornament witches and skulls as we are also getting our Santa Clauses and… Whatever the Jews inflate on their lawns….. We’ve already had the Back To School sales since June.  In a few days we will start stocking up on melting candy and sundries for Halloween (whatever happened to razor blades in apples?  Except that no one eats apples).  In a film from so long ago, Endless Summer, documented several beach bums as they journeyed around the world that then followed naturally ordered seasons (for those of you too young to remember, we had something called “spring” and “autumn” between summer/hot and winter/warm or cold) trying to maintain themselves within the summer season in order to engage in their hobby.  To do this they had to globe trot, searching for an often catching up with that warm weather and crashing surf that defined a generation.  Today, we need not travel in order to be suspended in some such condition of idyll youthfulness, or at least a constant state of similar something.  We have endless everything.  Endless Chriskwanzchunakamas, endless elections, endless Olympic games, and endless other incentives to buy crap, to consume more.  One stupid event bleeds into another, one reason to stock up on shit from PRC (Peoples’ Republic of China) leads to another.  And so it is that while the days may no longer get cooler, they continue to get shorter as the larger mechanisms continue to act as they have since time was invented, regardless of whatever small modifications exist closer to the surface, life supporting or not.

Ah summer, so short, yet no longer the stuff of children playing in fields and drinking from streams of Normal Rockwell.  More the Fear of Summer Learning Loss and blockbuster killing sprees.  The teaming masses of unwashed asses have spend the last few weeks stultified in front of their TeeVees watching grass-fed and possibly chemically enhanced men and woman and whatever those volley ball players are toss bricks or jump over bumps of dirt or otherwise show us that the human body, adrenochrome, and OCD lead people to do some great mundane things.  Meanwhile the bankers need not cut short their vacations, since Hopie Changie won’t be making any formal charges to The Casino.  The bankers did get a stern letter from Daddy Warbucks telling them that this time, for reals, they can’t rely on the tax payers.  If by “taxpayers” they mean those shelters in the Caymen Islands.  If by “taxpayers” you mean the middle classes, those cocksuckers (us…, you…, me) are still on the hook.  Endless bank scandals, endless bailouts (even those not called such).  The corn has withered on the vine, and 80% of teens can’t even recognize what is wrong with this sentence.  This blogger predicted fire, drought, and hailstones in April.  My new forcaste is still being formulated, but should include some real deft predictions.  Ramtha’s return (remember her/him?), Powerball tickets down to fifty cents, and an election that is looking more like a rerun of an old Chile vs. Bolivia futbal match c. 1978 than anything actually mattering to the you and I’s of the world.  We’re getting ready to welcome 4 more years of Owhatshisname and more of the same.

The Doomers are fast at their mounds of dirt shaping them by hand in betwixt typing comments and sending angry letters, watering fruit trees and mulching, learning how to can veggies or thinking about learning to do several things that neo-back-to-the-landers discuss late into the nights, or over various forms of social media.  The garden this year was done in my squash bugs, dry and cool spring weather, heat and more insects, and then a healthy dose of late summer ennui.  Next year, more various methods for killing bugs.  More passive watering.  More of everything.  One winner this year is the tobacco.  That stuff is taking off.  Who said that organic gardening can’t give you cancer.  For all this, the garden was a success in terms of scratching another patch of earth into shape, learning more about the needs of this land (organic or reduced petro-gardening requires one learn not about land, but about the particulars of the land you are using).  The garden has and is providing supplements to several people’s diets, wonderful tidbits of sunshine captured in plant form.  Each tomato a lazy youthful summer swinging into the river.  Overhead the fires burn long away, small dots land on far away planets, and our economy crushes just a little more.  The future is The Wickerman meets Bladerunner.  The late summer brought boredom to the youth of Fort Mudge on The River to some endless hooliganism (we actually use that term in town, “hooliganism”).  Some number of them (perhaps just 1) tore off a cast iron gate and knocked off several ornamentations as well as one of my unused flag mounts that has been attached to the building since dogs were cats.

This blogger went to the police to file a report and sat in the hot waiting room listening in to the gentle conversations from the thugs we pay to protect us – Knowing that the endless process won’t really end in anything.  From what he overheard he made note….

PO 1 – What is that shit out there? (I was the only “thing” out there)

Man at desk – He is making a complaint about property damage.

PO 1 – What the fuck is this shit?  Fuck that!  You call [name]?  Don’t give this shit to me.

Man at desk – Yeah, I let him know.

PO 2 (summoned back form patrol and having entered behind the apparently thin medal door and cement wall).  What is the issue?

Man at desk – (mumbled)

PO 2 – What?  You fucking got me back for this shit?  And PO Asshole sitting here can’t take care of this.

PO Asshole – (unintelligible) Fuck off.

PO 2 – Alright.  Let me take care of this fucking stupid shit.

This blogger entered, and I must admit, as a property owner, I do get some respect, I wasn’t frisked or waited more than 20 minutes in the stifling waiting “room.”  Nevertheless, the complaint I made was written on some scrap paper, PO Not Asshole has to bum a pen.  In the report, he asked how old I was, DOB, and other questions about my being, not to do with being the owner of a massacred gate.  I complied.  I am sometimes just passive in situations I see are stupid.  Let them end that much faster.  When I was done, PO Not Asshole didn’t give me a copy of the report.   I was sent on my way, assured they would “knock on some doors and get some information” which almost made me laugh right on the spot.  But the two of us, PO Not Asshole and I, pretended that this was our social contract, that I was civilian and he a protector of the Public even though we both knew if TSHTF he and PO Asshole would be raiding the gun closet and removing all those toys provided by the NSA to suppress the masses of asses, that is you, and I.  And PO Asshole and PO Not Asshole, they would be the first to take aim at us, and we need to understand, they are perhaps those we must fear in these days of mass shootings and strange drones overhead.  In the latest bloodbath out west, 6 persons of the same religion were killed.  This is Domestic Terrorism™ and we can soon expect [more] check-points.  However, 375 (mostly black) persons shot this year – to date – in Chicago….?  That’s just black-on-black crime.  No need to [fake] gun control discussions and calls to increase genital fondling by PO Asshole to ensure we ain’t terrorists, domestic or not.  Endless gun violence.

So let the drones fly endlessly over us.  Let the security cameras endlessly expand their watch.  Let Microsoft and Apple, Dell and the NSDAPOTUS create an endless security state in order to have private companies enforce our laws for profit. The summer is a listless travail of humid sleepy days, as it has been since the first Spielberg film oozed nostalgia onto the screen.

The preparations for travel continue for this blogger to reach as far as I can in the James Bay territories.  Thanks to Uncle Internet I found a calculator to know what sort of carbon footprint I will leave driving a 1984 car over 3000 miles.  I know somewhat the cost, the factors of how far each day, I have coated the bottom of said vehicle in so much rubberized paint and poured so many chemicals into the front to stop leaks and maintain proper compression in what we now call the “drive train” but when I knew as the engine back in The Day.  There is a certain amount of planning that needs to be done in preparation.  Too much and the trip is killed.  Murdered.  Turned into a mimetic ritual.  Too little and it is a boring adventure.  And adventure because no one knows what is happening, boring since today little is uncertain other than did you pay too much for that Hot Hamburger (look that up but add “Quebec” and hang on).  The trip to TEOTWAMPTM (The End of The World As Map Quest Tells Me) has begun a countdown from which, there is no holding back the hands of the clock.

And so goes the summer of 2012.  Nothing is resolved, but then, what Soap Opera ever actually sorted things out before being canceled?  So, what about that forecast?   A rambling post as ever there has been one.  However, here is the forecast, the glimpse into the future that so many “experts” provide based on qwerty and poiu™.

This Autumn – Unusually warm.  Obama wins.  EU does nothing.  UN does nothing.  The Daily Show is funny.  We agree with Colbert, he wins some more awards.  October surprise is something boring and not the bank failure many of us hope/expect.  Winter takes hold.  And she is a bitch.  Fuck thunder-snow, we’ll wish for that.  This winter may be butt-to-butt action.  However, as the old song says… damn, is that song that old?  I could be wrong.  But I could be right.  The endless ranting, will continue, endlessly since you can only taunt your enemies from this side of the dirt.