“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard

Monday, May 24, 2004

All I need is some inspiration
Before I do somebody some harm
I feel just like a vegetable
Down here on the farm

Nobody comes to see me
Nobody here to turn me on
I ain't even got a lover
Down here on the farm

They told me to get healthy
They told me to get some sun
But boredom eats me like cancer
Down here on the farm

Drinkin' lemonade shanty
Ain't nobody here to do me harm
But I'm like a fish out of water
Down here on the farm

I wrote a thousand letters
Till my fingers all gone numb
But I never see no postman
Down here on the farm

I call my baby on the telephone, I say
Come down and have some fun
But she knows what the score is
Down here on the farm

I can't fall in love with a wheatfield
I can't fall in love with a barn
Well everything smells like horse shit
Down here on the farm

Blue skies and swimming pools
Add so much charm
But I'd rather be back in Soho
Than down here on the farm

On the fucking farm!

Artist: Guns N' Roses
Album: The Spaghetti Incident?
Title: Down On The Farm


So we went down to the farm today.

I really like the farm, despite what my musical intro seems to suggest.
It's just that I allways run that song through my head a few dozen times
whenever I'm down there.

Ryan, his girlfriend Raychel, her roommate Julie and I went fishin'.
Actually, the girls went fishin'. Ryan and I just kinda hung out.
But it doesn't make us any less manly.

They weren't really sure what to expect when I suggested the outting.
I just knew they liked to fish and I knew a good spot to do it.
Turns out I would be just as surprised as they were.

The farm's former occupant was my Uncle Dan. Uncle Dan was a mountain
man if ever a mountain man there was. He was a real man from back when
men were men dammit. I'll put it this way, last time I saw him alive he
was walking with a cane. I was a little taken aback by this. The Dan I
knew would never use a cane. It was a threat to his Sam Peckinthorpe
style ruggedness, you understand. Anyway, I later found out that he had
broken his leg and set it by himself only that fucking morning and he
couldn't make the two mile walk to where we were without the cane.

I didn't make that up either.

Dan made moonshine right up until his death in 1999. On occasion he'd
drive to Lynchburg Virginia and come back with a couple of the charred
oak barrels they used to age Jack Daniels in. He'd then use these barrels
to make bourbon from the moonshine. This resulted in a smooth, subtle
flavor that hit you in the face like a shit-shovel.

When Dan died, My Mother and her brother, Dan's Niece and Nephew
respectively, bought the land from the estate. Well it seems my Uncle
has been spending a lot of freaking time and money down there.

I had heard he was putting in a picnic pavillion by the pond, which he
cleared around and stocked with fish. I also figured the pavillion
would be equipped with electricity, which it was. I was however a
little surprised by the running water and the grill, but the celing
fans made me simply stop and stare in wonderment.

THE FUCKING CAMPSITE HAS CELING FANS! JESUS-BILLY-FINGER-LICKING-CHRIST! CELING FANS!!!

That having been said, it was actually kinda cool. Hell, put walls
on the fucking thing and it'd be nicer than my house.

So Ryan and I chilled out while the girls took the paddle boat out fishing
(yeah, I said paddle boat) while my cousin Eric and his friends destroyed as
much of the local ecosystem as they could on thier dirtbikes. I call 'em the
Hecks Angels. Fuckin' wussy dirtbikes and thier wussy safety gear...

Don't worry too much about that environment thing though, the farm is just
downriver from the DuPont chemical company so it's not like it's gonna last
forever anyway.

So it looks like we're going down a few more times this week and we're currently
planning a major bonfire-fishing-camping-dancing-naked-pagan-ritual-bloodletting-kegger.
I'll keep you all up on the details.

See you in hell.

Oh, PS: I got sunburned. Fucking sun. How do you put up with that crap every day?

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