Saturday, July 31, 2010

The Industrialists Can Keep Their Darned Hole

That was a close call yesterday. I don't believe I'll be going back to that particular park anytime soon!

Reflecting back on it -- I can barely think of anything else -- I can barely believe it happened. It all happened so fast, and it could be my innocence was my saving grace. The timing was such that it could've gone either way, since when I was pulling out I had no idea about the SUVs. Another minute and I would've been trapped for sure.

Had I been trapped I wouldn't've known what to do. It could've been I wouldn't've had any good options. My back would've been up against two inexorable forces, the river and the industrialists themselves. At that point they would've had free reign over me and could've done anything they wanted. And should that've happened, I would've had to've simply given up.

Of course I would've resisted as long as I could've, which likely wouldn't've been long, seeing there would've been a lot more of them than of me. But, like I said, I would've done what I could've. Then as I would've been going down for the last time, I would've rued the day, knowing I shouldn't've even been there. That would've been indisputable.

But there I was -- scoping out the scene of Voice 1, Voice 2, and Thompson's conversation captured on Tape 3. And in the course of that action, I got the very weird word from the guy coming down the path that there was a big hole on the path about 25 yards in. That's so weird. It's an image that I haven't been able to shake.

I'd love to know how big the hole is. Because in my imagination I've got it about the size of a crater. I'm thinking of a big sinkhole that may've opened up from the force of the river and the bend. But then how would it even be a path anymore? What are we dealing with? Men risking their lives to circumnavigate a crater to find the path again? Would it have slippery slopes, meaning once you're in you're in? I clearly saw the guy coming out, giving me the warning that it's there. Somehow he avoided it.

The thing that's going to happen is nothing. I'm never going to know what that darned hole looks like even if it takes me a million years. Unless I can see it on Google Earth. Because I'm not going back there. It's infested my thoughts. I was thinking about it last night of what a life changer that would be for me. In the worst way. To slip down the slope of that terrible hole would be the pits for me. And I actually do have a lot more personal control and personal restraint for that kind of behavior. Even revulsion. I won't touch the walls of a bathroom. So the heck with it!

There's actual people there who stand opposed to me and everything the Residential Industrial Movement stands for. The major industrial powers couldn't be held back when they didn't carry this grievance, so of course there'd be no restraining them now. Let 'em keep their darned hole! I have work to do.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Nosing Out The Industrialists' Path

Shortly after writing The Industrial Tapes - 3 today, I decided on a whim to go over to the park by the river, the setting of Tape 3's most terrifying passage.

I thought, By the light of day there shouldn't be any problem. People ostensibly take their dogs there to run, and since I have Underbrush, she would be the perfect cover. To be extra safe, I put on a pair of sunglasses left over from a recent visit to the dentist -- they give them out to shield your eyes from the dentist's light -- and a floppy hat I normally only use as protection against the sun.

Getting there, there was a couple of trucks already there, like usual. Something's going on down that path, which I may never find out about, because I'm halfway afraid to walk down it. But I can nose around as I generally do in these kinds of circumstances. And, again, Underbrush is the perfect cover.

I quickly peered down the path, looking as far as I could see (not far at all) without going over to it. The frightening thought came to me, Somewhere down there is the very bush that Thompson emerged from!

About as soon as I thought this, I heard some rustling, startling me. So I turned toward the river just to make it look like we were just there. Then a guy came out from the path. His pants had a freshly zipped look. I averted my eyes, since I'm so open people typically can read my mind. I was nervous, more or less with him on one side and a swollen river on the other.

I waved, then blurted out, "So what is that? Some kind of jogging path?" He said it was, but that I should watch out for the big hole about 25 yards in. Like I'm going in! He wasn't dressed in jogging clothes! And what's this about a big hole 25 yards in? Was he threatening me? It sounded like it, since a predator oftentimes likes to play with its prey. I'd get down there, look in the hole and see a naked guy in the exact center like a spider, and that'd be all she wrote!

I just threw up my hands and pointed to the dog, "She's afraid of holes." So he went on his way, got in his red truck and left.

I got back in my car and we left. Just as I was winding around the final turn of the rock-bordered road, I saw a motorcade of anywhere from two to 10 big black SUVs coming from the road to the right. Thinking maybe it was a welcoming party and farewell party for me all at the same time, I gunned it up and over the hill. Right then -- thank God -- there was a train coming, which I just missed on my way across the tracks.

The short story is, I gunned it again and never actually saw them in my rear view mirror.

The Industrial Tapes - 3

Thank God I have you, my most faithful readers, because I'm feeling very paranoid today. I need a long distance hug if you don't mind.

I was listening to another of The Industrial Tapes, a stash of secretly recorded tapes gotten somehow (through a source) from the major industrial powers. My paranoia is this: 1) I know they're reading the blog and they'll do whatever they need to do to get the tapes back. 2) They were talking about me on this latest tape!

When listening to it, I subjected it to my usual discernment process, listening for background noises, to give me a better understanding of the setting. It was only then that I paid more attention to the conversations taking place.

What I heard on this tape was enough to localize it. What I heard made my hair stand on end! At the same time I had goosebumps, felt a chill go up my spine, and needed to go to the bathroom really badly. Without hairspray, I can't do much about my tousled mane; nor do I have any control over crawling flesh or spinal impulses; but ever since I was a kid, I could control peeing my pants; this time was no exception, as hard as it was to stifle.

On the tape I could hear the rushing of the river in the background, a few dogs yipping and shaking, vehicle doors slamming, and the voices of men saying hello or goodbye! You can't get any more local than that! That's the park down by the river! I take my own dog down there, where she can run. And it seems that every other guy in town does the same! (I've never seen a woman there.)

Not everyone has a dog, of course. There's just a lot of guys who show up, probably because it's a nice place to look at the river. I keep seeing them walk a path and then come back, down there probably going to the bathroom. They come back zipping their pants. I had a sudden thought. I'd hate to imagine what else might be going on down there. But one thing it points out very clearly, the city needs more porta-potties closer to the parking lot.

Anyway, the tape was clearly recorded there, meaning these are guys for whom the sense of urgency is obviously a compulsion. There's nothing they're not capable of, given the luxury of two or three minutes of time. They're willing to take this thing the whole nine yards, and whether I stand a chance against them will depend on how willing I am to yield. So this could be my most challenging trial yet, if and when they get a hold on me.

The worst part of the tape was the conversation they were having about me -- that's what makes it so terrible. Of course I knew I was a topic of conversation among the industrial powers. How could I not be, with all I've done to chap their hide over the last few months? But now they're out for a lot more!

VOICE 1 -- Will I see you tomorrow night?
VOICE 2 -- I'll be here.
VOICE 3 -- Ooo, I love the way you say that, very firm, very manly...
VOICE 2 -- Who said that? Thompson, is that you?
VOICE 3 -- Yeah. [I hear some rustling of branches as Thompson apparently emerges from hiding.]
VOICE 1 -- What are you doing here?
THOMPSON -- The boss sent me down to tell you to step on it.
VOICE 1 AND 2 -- Step on what?
THOMPSON -- The plan, to get him!
VOICE 2 -- You mean?
THOMPSON -- Exactly.

I'm sorry, but since I heard that I'm watching my back, and my backside. These guys have official orders to get me. Now you can see why I need that long distance hug! This is a terrible turn of events!

Thursday, July 29, 2010

The Industrial Tapes - 2

"The Industrial Tapes" is perhaps our most shocking, revealing, and revolting feature of all time.

The tapes fell into our hands, giving us a direct pipeline into the sacrosanct precincts of the major industrial powers. They've been beset with worries over the Residential Industrial Movement (RIM) and our advances. Of course they feel like striking back, from their point of view before it's too late.

I kept listening to the tape I had yesterday, straining myself, rewinding multiple times, trying to hear over the outside, nocturnal noises of nature, owls, crickets, locusts, staying up late probably doing something obscene. No one's given them the message that nighttime is for decent sleeping, not staying awake all night rubbing against each other, messing up everyone's tapes.

The same two voices continued on, talking about their security and whether they should even be taping this conversation at all:

VOICE 2 -- Why are you taping this?
VOICE 1 -- I have a hard time remembering everything.
VOICE 2 -- Kind of a memory jogger?
VOICE 1 -- Yeah, it's past my bedtime.
VOICE 2 -- You don't think you're compromising the operation?
VOICE 1 -- Not at all. No one has access to my tapes.

Well, we shall see about that! I hate to burst anyone's bubble, but consider yours burst! The walls have ears and the night has a thousand eyes!

Then they buckled down to some serious business, conferring, in something of a brainstorming session on what to do about the RIM. I'll leave out the "Voice 1 and 2" because this was strictly a meeting of minds:

Industrial sabotage ... infiltration ... bending the law to our will ... bribes ... unfortunate accidents ... taking people out ... making large orders and canceling them ... ringing at doorbells and running ... cutting their own prices, a price war ... monopolizing raw goods ... tainting our water and air ... swiftboating us on TV ... twisting our words ... taking my blog out of context ... setting fire to our facilities ... killing our dogs ... lying to Congress about us ... blocking our driveways, mayhem of a thousand kinds ...

In other words, everything short of God bless you!

This truly is shocking, revealing, and revolting stuff! But that's the air the major industrial powers breathe! The list went on, and the longer it did the more I could appreciate Voice 1's inability to remember it all. I'd be taping it too! Even though that decision will be their downfall!

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

The Industrial Tapes - 1

We definitely have the major industrial powers on the run! They're on the defensive but they're still not down. It's at this point where the dog is cornered that it starts to get dicey. Dicey, but also sloppy, in not watching their back, or not realizing what they're up against in us. We have eyes everywhere!

Now I have it in my hands, explosive evidence. I have in my possession anywhere from one to a dozen incriminating tape(s) of them talking about us ... and their predicament. And it's not a pleasant thing to hear, with the cornered dogs talking about how they're going to bite back and hopefully prevail.

Like I said, at this point we have eyes everywhere. Thanks to an expanding network of residential industrialists, many of them -- perhaps as retirees -- having ties to the major industrial powers. Then there's all those folks who've worked for the powers or have been contractors who have carried grievances against them forever. The major powers need to learn they should watch their back!

This particular tape (or tapes) was/were delivered to me by one of these disgruntled sources, a local vat producer who shall remain nameless. What is revealed is shocking stuff as to what the major industrial powers think of the Residential Industrial Movement (RIM) and what they have planned against us. Also, it's my belief that they reveal their hatred for society as a whole. It's shocking, revealing, and revolting, all at the same time.

Listening to the tapes (I may as well admit there's more than one), first I'm listening for background evidence. As you can well guess, they didn't label the tapes, so it's more or less a hodgepodge. Background evidence, listening very closely, suggests the voices are male, that they're walking along in a private setting, and that they're outside. At one point I can hear the sound of an owl, leading me to believe it was night and that they were near some dense trees. So if we put all that together, we can conclude they're very secretive and likely know they're doing something wrong.

I can't get the whole thing transcribed. It wouldn't be helpful anyway, since a lot of it is simply chitchat of the most harmless kind.

VOICE 1 -- Did you hear that owl?
VOICE 2 -- Yeah, be still, let's listen.
OWL -- Woo, woo.
VOICE 1 -- It's over there in one of those trees.
VOICE 2 -- You think?

All that is understandable, since who isn't fascinated with the nocturnal insomniacs of nature, the owl? They're mysterious, not afraid of being alone in a dark forest, and very very wise.

But the tape reveals a lot more than that, and soon it turns very shocking, revealing, and revolting.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Residential Industrialists Gaining Dominance

It looks like they don't think it's so funny now!

The major industrial powers, at first taunting and ridiculing the Residential Industrial Movement (RIM) -- "rank amateurs," "pathetic in every way," and "newbies" -- are now reeling from its impact. The combination of unlimited goods and extremely low prices has been too much for the big guys.

Like always, there's a lot more going on behind the scenes than what anyone sees. But because what we see is a lot of panic and resistance, it has to be insane behind the scenes. I can well imagine what's going on, and some of this leaks out to those who are paying attention. Of course the phone lines to the government are burning up, as they seek a renewed advantage. And we're burning them up too, flexing our new muscles for our own interests.

I myself am just at the periphery -- the bigger boys have taken over. But I'm getting the word. It's filtering up to me from a network of cousins in the know, and of course some of the bigger residential manufacturers of my town. What I can say about it exactly is limited because all eyes are on this blog, and, as they say, "Loose lips sink nascent grassroot movements."

I was watching the show on TV, "River Monsters," and it made me think of some of the parallels between that and industrialism. In case you don't know, there's a host who's always off to fish in some exotic location, looking for "river monsters" in the area that are blamed for missing children, missing boats, and missing TV hosts. He does his investigations by spending the entire hour trying to catch one of these gigantic fish. Then he examines it, pronounces it innocent and gently releases it back. Two days later, we hear of an entire village missing but no one sees the connection.

Anyway, one of the themes is that some of these monstrous fish are introduced to a particular area, meaning they upset the natural ecology there and tend to have the upper hand against native species. They eat up the entire habitat and other fish. By the time the TV cameras get there, there's little left except a puddle of water and this one species, looking very innocent and content.

You can see something of what's going on with the RIM. We introduced the concept of "Every Man With An Industry." The 'other species,' the major industrial powers didn't see it coming till it was too late, and now we're on the verge of complete domination in all the fields of manufacturing and industry. Of course they're going to fight back ... with all they've got ... with all they've got left ...

Monday, July 26, 2010

Industrialism And Lost Innocence

The thing about innocence is that you were always more innocent yesterday. Am I right?

What do I mean by this? I mean several things, but to state it another way, you're always innocent of whatever's going to arise tomorrow, as long as you don't know about it. That's one thing. And, two, because of experience, which always goes along with innocence, if you haven't had particular experiences then you're innocent of what those experiences would be and participation in them.

We see this all the time with society, being on a larger scale than the individual. In the '60s we looked back to the "innocence of the '50s," then in the '70s the "innocence of the '60s," and so forth. Right up to today, where we're always looking back to the innocence of the '90s or the pre-9/11 days or what have you. But as we all realize, I hope, the times we had weren't so innocent at the time!

The solution is just to stop time and never experience anything, never advance or regress. I've done that to a certain extent, so I'm a relatively innocent person. Right out of high school, like other boys, I figured I'd go to college, get a fancy job, get married, get my own place, have kids, etc. But none of that happened. Instead, I moved in with Grandma and Grandpa (who since has died, 1978), and here I am, now an adult caretaker of my aged grandmother.

There are advantages and disadvantages. The wife I would have had, she and I have never had any arguments nor has divorce been threatened or carried out. The children we would have had, they never get sick, don't need new shoes, video games, or a car. They never need school supplies, permission slips, or lunch tickets. They don't bring home unruly friends. They don't get pregnant or impregnate others. We've never had a fight. The house I would have had never burns down. I never get in trouble at the job I would have had. They've never loaded me up with paperwork. And I've never had the joy of college loans. The disadvantages might be ... here I am, more or less all by myself.

I'm as innocent as they come, and that has to count for something!

All this applies to industrialism in the same way. With industrialism -- as great as it is, in particular with the Residential Industrial Movement (RIM) -- we have the ability to own the means of production, to produce endlessly, to make a lot of money, and to keep prices dirt cheap. There's nothing we can't have if we want it. And I think that's wonderful. From my closest neighbors, anytime I want I can go and buy wheels for hospital beds, disposable diapers, and industrial vats. Just to name a few. And they can come to me and buy a few of my tires or contract with me for electricity. It all works together.

But how innocent are we? Once upon a time, our yards were just yards, with fountains, flower beds, squirrels feeding at the bird feeder, and rabbits enjoying our gardens. Children would run through the neighborhood, flying a kite or shooting firecrackers. You'd see neighbors fanning themselves on the porch, taking it easy, or sitting in a lawn chair out on an actual lawn. Now it's just factories and industrial complexes everywhere, and warehouses. And occasionally someone will throw a rock through a window in one of the warehouses, making a mess.

As great as the RIM has been -- and the full story of its future glories is still to be told -- one can't help but, just occasionally, shedding maybe a tear now and then, like if something gets in our eye from one of the spare parts, for whatever innocence there may be that we've lost.

I'm not trying to be a downer. Industrialism really is great, so let's work together! There's still plenty of innocence ahead, which we won't lose till more time has passed.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

The Religion Of Industrialism

How utterly spiritual it all is, the sights and sounds and sense of industrialism. I may lose sight of it on other days, like in the hard work of a Monday or a Tuesday, but on Sunday, that's when we give it all up for our Higher Power.

For Him, many of the Residential Industrialists knock it off for the day, giving their belts and pulleys, lines and hooks rest from their daily rounds. The workers -- Mom, Pop, kids, the grandkids -- look up and give those moments of service to the Father of Industrialists.

Who is more industrious than the Father of Industry? No one. When He created all things and gave us a place to stand and work, even He backed off the levers of production for His day of rest. He could've gone right on building a bigger earth, since it's smaller than all the larger planets, but He let all the works grind to a halt when the day of rest arrived.

Now, does every Residential Industrialist follow Him in that? No. Many keep right on going through Sunday, and that's their right. Each man has to decide for himself how closely he wants to align himself with this practice. Since it's obviously very imitative, and I'd say it has a certain amount of arbitrariness in it as well, being just one pattern in existence lifted above the others, it's arbitrary to criticize. But that's one of the abstruse theological arguments that doesn't get us very far. We simply allow each man to do it his way and bless the whole works. And for those who disagree, they have time on Sunday to fight it out.

But, in fact, the case could be made that the continually industrious man has it right, since the resting on the day of rest for the Creator was a one time thing and surely He's been working steadily right along in a very industrious way ever since. The sun yet rises, the foundations of the mountains are kept in place, the ocean's tides lift in the same tumult, and cows still need to be milked. Nothing in Creation comes to a screeching halt.

As for me, I actually like the constant hum of things. When it comes to conveyor belts and all that, the hooks on lines dangling from the ceiling, the whirring, the squeaking of gears -- I like it. When they switch it off, like when they need to clean up on third shift, or for the day of rest, the quiet for me is very disquieting.

But, once you get used to it, the quiet can start to grow on you, only to be disturbed by the rustling of the pages of a holy book and the soft murmurs of devotion. The Lord of Industry looks down and likes what He sees, I feel we can safely presume.

Then, soon enough, the day comes to an end. The foreman blows the steam whistle, giving the "All Clear," that the day of rest is finally over and it's time to get back to production. The lines make a cracking noise as they start, big component panels hanging on hooks shake, almost dance at first, then it's all underway again, and things flow smoothly.

After their day of rest, the workers are happy to be back to the rhythm of life, and may spontaneously break into an improvised spiritual, praising "de Lord above" for His rich bounty of interchangeable parts.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Industrialism Cannot Be Contained

This is kind of scary, in a way, but it's become my undying conviction, that industrialism cannot be contained.

Can industrialism be contained? I'm thinking it cannot be contained, except in the sense that there is a finite space on earth for it to be. If and when it spreads to outer space, where the vastness is practically without limits, then we might be able to say literally that it cannot be contained.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, many of these issues are not a practical concern at the present moment. What we have to deal with in our own time is limited by and large to what goes on on the earth. We have concerns about the environment, for the most part because we are concerned with our continuing existence.

The impact of an uncontainable industrialism, then, has ramifications for the environment and our existence. Of course we would continue to exist, since even uncontainable industrialism still demands our existence to run it. Whether a case could be made for industrialism to create machines as both producers and consumers, and somehow we as a species were to be snuffed out and they would continue on, seems to me to be issues that, like the possible spread of industrialism in outer space, are not practical to address at this time. Suffice it to say, we can be vigilant, always keeping track of where the on/off switch is. But at this point, our continuing existence is assured if for no other reason than someone needs to be here to work the levers of industrialism.

But what kind of existence (quality of life) do we want and need? Those are relevant questions in any discussion of whether industrialism can be contained. I myself was a fervent anti-industrialist for a time, coming to these convictions fairly recently, just this April. My reaction against industrialism had to do with this very thing, the quality of life in my town. We have one of the world's major monster truck tire plants here and their pollution obscures the sky for the better part of the day. Workers routinely die before their morning break. If a child doesn't have emphysema by the time he's 10 we know he moved here late in life.

I still haven't made peace with them. But with the spread of the Residential Industrial Movement -- every man having his own industry on his land -- I've spent my energies with that. Still, as glorious as it is that every man can make and sell things, thereby bringing the price down to about nothing and making things a lot more equal, the fact that even more so it's true that industrialism cannot be contained bothers me.

My recommendation to everyone involved -- which is everyone -- is that we all keep an eye on it, knowing that in the end, time will tell.

Friday, July 23, 2010

The Wild West Of Residential Industrialism

Looking at it now I can see it was bound to happen. This thing is just too big. I wouldn't be able to hold the reins of it for long -- the Residential Industrial Movement. And that goes for even the philosophical reins. There's simply too many other great thinkers for one man's mind to control it all. Others were bound to pick up the reins and go with them.

The reins, of course, are those straps that attach to a horse's mouth and end in a loose handful of leather designed to fit in a stagecoach driver's hands. With them he's able to guide the progress of the stagecoach via the open road across the country, depending on the horse's motive power for the vehicle to be pulled. The horse needs that guidance because it can't be expected to do all the work, and they'd just as soon not get lost anywhere where there might not be grain and water for the night.

For a time -- being the one to announce the founding principles of the Residential Industrial Movement (RIM) -- I was able to keep the reins securely in my hands and guide things. But when it expanded quickly past the local setting, going statewide, then national, at that point it went too many different directions.

There's a big difference between local, state, and national, with the key thing being distance and size. One man, with only self-declared authority (self-declared but rightly held when he is the philosophical father), can't keep the reins forever. The quick expansion means that others will immediately step in. So unless you have a network of very violent underlings or access to a big electronic board and enforcement powers, you have no choice but to step aside.

Those who've known the most about statecraft express the same lesson: You either need a police force, a military, or at the very least an honor system with strong coercive penalties to maintain social coherence.

I'm not ruing things, I'm really not, especially my own fate in this whole arrangement. It is after all very early in the RIM -- these are the Wild West days, and it's bound to stretch and groan quite a bit more before it settles down; these are the growing pains.

Before I go any farther, let me state this for the record: I will not be responsible for any debts, violations of patent laws, trespassing on others' property, sabotage, or unlawful violence other than my own.

I had to say that because, frankly, there are some unsavory characters in the RIM, some people definitely taking things too far, and seeking various advantages by piling on and even sabotaging mainstream industrialists. At this point, with my present stock of weaponry, Grandpa's old guns, I feel that I must disavow all violence, and I do.

There is some mid-level activity that I don't necessarily support yet I feel can be justified as making a positive difference. And that of course has to do with certain RIM members absconding with planes and trains out of city parks, railroad museums, and at the entrance to airports around the country. They worked once and no one cared; there's no reason they shouldn't be returned to active service if they're needed for the common good. The key to using them is getting them fitted again for service. Some need a little and some need a lot. Most of them need just a few things. Usually you put in a new firing pin and the other stuff falls into place.

My basic take on the RIM is that I support it. But I can see the bad with the good, meaning I'm able to stand back and view the whole situation with a mixture of pride and frustration. But I know the Wild West will prevail! I might've been sheriff for a while but they've moved way past me. The reins have definitely slipped out of my hands. As for being sheriff, I'm buried on Boot Hill. I still have a role to play here at the local level, but for the rest of it, the reins are really out of my hands.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

The Feted Industrialist

I just wanted to follow up for a minute on my doctor's appointment yesterday. It went well. I was judged to be in good enough health to leave after the appointment, not to return until next time.

If you have your health, of course you're a very rich person. But things are going better than that for me these days, where I not only have my health but a little extra money too. My career as an industrialist is really paying off. I have enough money to command respect.

I was real happy about how many people knew me (or seemed to know of me) at the doctor's office. Most everyone in the waiting room glanced up when I came through the door. I started hoping that no one would make a scene in greeting me. Thankfully, no one did, and everyone went back to what they were doing once I was seated.

The receptionist had me filling out some papers, etc., all that terrible stuff that it'd be nice to do without. It's a little surprising, in this digital age, that they still have us filling out papers with a pen and clipboard. Can't we move beyond that to having at least a digital kiosk to take care of this? I had to catch myself before I complained, that's just how industrial-minded I am these days!

The rest of the visit was also very "old school," sitting and waiting forever, when it seems like it'd be easy to put a tracker on the doctor, then time all his comings and goings over several months, then come up with some statistical data of how long it takes to get to you, then give you a more precise appointment time. I had to catch myself again, it's just hard to turn off the industrial thoughts.

Eventually I got back to the holding room, where I waited forever. Getting to see the doctor is a lot like arriving at the Holy of Holies. And just as mysteriously, sort of like a Messiah eventually appearing, the doctor finally comes in. There's a secret hole in the wall -- not just a door, I guess -- that he uses. At long last, we saw each other again.

I felt like things had changed in the last six months. I'm well known around town and the state now because of all my industrial work. So he had a pretty good smile for me as a greeting. For once in my life I felt like he and I were on the same page, on the same level. I gave him a good firm manly handshake, which he seemed to appreciate. I just hope it wasn't his operating hand.

In addition to the usual health stuff, what pills I should be taking and how Grandma's doing at home, he was definitely more into me as a person. I felt the camaraderie that equals always feel, a good comfort level. I sat on the exam table with a lot of confidence and kept eye contact with him. As equals, we exchanged a few hearty laughs over nothing really.

In the end he pronounced me healthy. I explained how vivacious I felt, and he nodded in an understanding way. He put his hand on my back and invited me over this winter to see his Christmas lights. I told him I appreciated him honoring me in that way and that I would try somehow to reciprocate.

To be feted in this way was a real experience. But that's what happens when you've got your own factory.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

The Local Industrialist Visits The Doctor

Six months ago everything was different. I was doing whatever, nothing much that I can remember. I could look back in my archives, but I haven't got time. All I remember, though, is that whatever it was, it wasn't much. I got up, I did my daily stuff, and that was it. Like take a dead mouse out of the mousetrap and fling it into the road. It was a very light schedule.

Six months ago, like other healthy men my age, I had my last doctor's appointment. I went in, and the doctor checked me out, inside and out, and I went home. He always exchanges pleasantries with me, like, "How have you been?", etc. And of course he always asks about Grandma and how much exercise I'm getting, oh, and my diet. He's very big on people's diet. He doesn't think you should eat a lot of things. Which was kind of strange when, a year ago now, I ran into him in the park at the July 4 celebration and I had a big greasy pork burger in my hand and he didn't say a word about it.

So it's been six months. And in that time my whole world has changed. I went from a die hard anti-industrialist without a friend in the world (in that realm) to the philosophical father of the entire Residential Industrial Movement! Pretty big ascent, if I do say so myself!

Six months ago, yards were laying pretty much fallow. Every man was more concerned with whether his sidewalk was edged properly or his bird bath was 100% level. Trivial, unfulfilling stuff. Now it's all different. Gone are the bird baths, and the only edging anyone's concerned about is whether his factory stretches to the utmost edge of his property. Because we're not wasting a square inch of land now. We're putting it to use, with each yard now being used for factories, warehouses, out buildings, etc. The only green space we're wasting is for our image, the presentation we make with signage, a few ferns, and an occasional fountain, to let people know we're respectable businessmen.

So ... today I get to visit the doctor again. And I'm expecting something a little different now. Because now he and I are probably a little closer to the same tax bracket, maybe he'll want to be friends. Maybe there won't be so many pointless questions about my diet and health and, instead, a little camaraderie, brother to brother stuff. Money talks! And now I could afford one of those nice homes out at the west part of town with the big yard, if only everything was like it used to be. I'd probably need more money now, now that you have to buy an entire factory too. But, no matter. I have the bucks and the social standing.

Then again, maybe the doctor will have other things on his mind. Since I know a lot of the top residential industrialists, maybe he'll be looking for some deals on goods. If he pulls in good and close and speaks in hushed tones, I'll know. Trickster, psychological stuff. "I hear there's a guy in your neighborhood who's putting out some good wheels for ambulance gurneys," he might say. "How much could a guy get a set of those for?" Or a hundred sets! Or how about a good set of scalpels? If you know who makes them -- as I do -- you can get them dirt cheap.

As far as regular old doctoring goes, I already know I'm in good health. I know it and he knows it. So why I need these constant appointments, every six months, there's no reason. He's got something else up his sleeve. It's obvious, now that I'm somebody.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Whizbang Industrial Works

When you're manufacturing things all the time, as are the millions of industries in the Residential Industrial Movement, you get to the point where you're eating, drinking, and sleeping industry.

All through the waking day, all around the town, wherever I go, and of course in my own neighborhood, I see and hear all the work going on. We've used up most of the land we used to let go to waste, our yards, since that's the whole point, for every man to have his own industry right where he lives. That's a great thing, but it makes for virtually an unbroken scene, with factories and industrial works right up against each other, property line to property line.

There are the warehouses. Everyone's got his own warehouse, but there's a real range to these since a man has to balance out his land use. Smaller properties, as you can imagine, have less room for large factories and warehouses. Larger properties have more leeway for warehouses. I'm personally a big fan of the warehouse; there's just something about a big space for putting wares that appeals to me. I think it must've been the fun we had in Grandpa's storage shed when we were kids, and I've just transferred that sense of fun from the small shed to the larger facility! So, if I ever get tired of looking at factories (and I'm not saying I do), when that happens I can focus in more on the warehouses and it's a nice break.

I started by saying we eat, drink, and sleep industry. Today I wanted to report on how literally true that is, today the sleeping of industry. I had a dream about a place called the Whizbang Industrial Works, which seemed like it was always coming up with something creative to manufacture and use. What I actually saw in the dream was only one of Whizbang's inventions, and I didn't see it in their factory. Instead it was rolling through the community, either on a track or by some kind of virtual tracking software.

The Whizbang thing was like a circus wagon, decked out like that with the works like a calliope and lots of sounding devices, pipes, gold plating, etc., and it's purpose was to roll through our neighborhoods at about 4 in the morning to serve as a communal alarm clock. It's playing music, with a cycle of lower volume up to higher volumes of sound. It would roll along, then come to a stop outside your place, then the lower volume music would start in, and as it increased in volume it would gently wake you up.

After I woke up and was walking through the neighborhood, I saw that everyone was still basically asleep. There were some lights in some houses, and a few of the factories had trickles of smoke coming out of their stacks, with lights in the boiler rooms or offices. I could well imagine the father of the family in there with his billows, oily rags, and newspaper, trying to get the furnaces going. And how the father might be wishing for a better way to wake up his workforce. What if there were a Whizbang Industrial Works calliope-like communal alarm clock? Wouldn't that come in handy?

Frankly, I'm too busy, I'm way too consumed with my own industrial affairs -- once you establish a particular factory you basically have to go with that for a certain amount of time, if you want to make back your original investment -- to make this thing. But it's a heck of an idea for someone.

And, really, it might be a lot of fun for the kids, who might get up extra early so they could watch the alarm clock go by!

Monday, July 19, 2010

Trash Talking The Major Industrial Powers

Taunting the major industrial powers:

You guys, if you ate cream cheese and navy beans couldn't make a mess! 

Isn't that a beautiful line? It came to me today while driving along. It just came to me like that, fully formed.

Of course I wanted to preserve it as quickly as I could, so I reached for my phone. Then I remembered you're not supposed to text anything while driving, so I didn't. I just repeated it to myself a few times, but I had my phone out.

Instead of texting it, I wanted to record it on the voice recorder that comes with phones. But you have to type about as many buttons to get to it as you would texting. And I figured if a policeman pulled me over he wouldn't be sympathetic to the distinction. I've seen enough reality police shows to know you can't talk them into anything.

But I kept my phone out because I knew that sooner or later I'd get stuck by a red light. And wouldn't you know it, all the lights that normally turn red as soon as I'm approaching stayed green, allowing me to cruise through town unimpeded, very strange.

Finally, though, my "luck" ran out, and I quickly got the voice recorder going. Then I had a momentary mental block, but, again, it was just a second. I recorded the line I believe four times and that kept it preserved long enough for me to get my errands done and to get home and write it out in all the beauty you see above.

I made a very rare Tweet of it, rare for me, although that version, to be honest, had a comma after "beans," and looking at it tonight it seems to me it shouldn't have. So I tweeked my Tweet and this is the version without the comma after "beans."

The taunt, of course, is that I don't think the major industrial powers can make anything, as in manufacturing. Yes, yes, I know they can make a lot of things, but I guess I'm taunting them about the inferior quality of their shoddy goods if you compare them to what the Residential Industrial Movement can make. We're making things with the greatest quality, literally not resting until we get it as good as we can.

So I guess I'm infantilizing them a little, thinking of someone who can make a real mess in their pants, if you've ever taken care of little kids. Feed them cream cheese and navy beans and stand back! But the major industrial powers, I'm saying, in a great example of trash talking, couldn't even make a mess, given the ingredients that would work even for babies!

Industrial David Slays Industrial Goliath

The bigger they are the harder they fall.

I have oftentimes been reminded of that truism in life. I saw some guys cutting down a big tree about four months ago, and because it was big it really came down hard. But if I go out and check out the acorns squirrels buried last week I can easily pull the tiny trees up and throw them down and you can't hear a thing. The hardness of the fall is proportionate to the size of the tree.

Speaking of squirrels, the day I saw that big tree come down -- they were sawing at it for maybe 45 minutes -- just about as soon as it came down a squirrel who'd been in the top branches somewhere went scurrying for another tree. It was a little ironic that probably a squirrel had planted that tree 100 years before and a squirrel was the last thing out of it 100 years later. Or I could put it this way: A squirrel planted the tree 100 years before and was the direct cause of the discomfort of another squirrel 100 years later. That's really thinking ahead!

But as to the tree's hard fall -- it really came down! My dog Underbrush was in the car watching it with me and when it crashed she dove for the floor, that's how loud it was. But I can be out weed whacking these little acorn trees all day and she doesn't seem to notice -- she doesn't notice. So there is demonstrably some relation between the size of a thing, in this case a tree, and the hardness of its fall.

And that's the way it was in the story of David and Goliath. You've got David, barely a shrimp, and you've got Goliath, his head stretching toward the clouds. To him, he's invulnerable, that's what he thinks. He looks down on the children of Israel and they're like ants. As small as can be. And they look up at him. He's so big they can see him from a hundred miles away. As big as life. Standing there very imposing. Bigger than life. With size to spare. Busting out of his clothes. A real ladies' man.

Then there's David, barely discernible to the naked eye. So small you virtually need a microscope to isolate him. He couldn't beat a paramecium with a machine gun. He's overwhelmed by the breeze. A feather would bruise him. When he travels he hitches a ride on a dust mote. He'd fit through the eye of a needle four abreast. Women can barely tolerate his presence, he's so small. He keeps his pants on for shame.

But we know how the story turned out. David hoisted his tiny little slingshot, and with one well-aimed pebble -- smaller than a speck in your eye -- smacked Goliath in the forehead and left a gaping wound in him the size of a football field. The big man came down, as he must, and the reverberations are still registering on the Richter scale, 5,000 years later!

Welcome to the world of the Residential Industrial Movement, as we work day by day in the industrial field. The major industrial powers think they're big enough to withstand us, but look again. We're coming on strong in the manufacturing sectors. We're coming on strong in our stocks of raw materials. Everyday we're opening up new markets, putting down our own railroads, communications networks, towers, smokestacks, and driveways. We're stringing lights on our factories, lighting the way for our trucks, and they're blinking through the night, signaling which loading dock they should use.

It's a beautiful sight ... and Goliath won't know what hit him.

In short, Industrial Goliath has more than met his match. Industrial David shall prevail!

Sunday, July 18, 2010

An Hour Of Industrial Shalom

Shalom is a word from the vast realm of foreign vocabularies from languages we don't speak. And yet it's still one that we know about, thanks to a lot of repetition over the years both welcome and unwelcome. Somehow, probably because of the inspiration it gives people as a concept, this word was plucked from the obscurity that other words know, then thrust before our attention, commanding notice.

I've personally heard this word used numerous times, usually from the pastors who wear black robes and sometimes robes of other colors. They'll be going on about something, things they know a lot about through constant introspection, then they'll lay the word Shalom on us as a revelation all by itself. A few words of explanation are given, invariably, and we take the warm and fuzzy concept with us to think about while we're cutting people off in traffic.

So here come my words of explanation, for the one idiot out there who's somehow remained ignorant of this whole subject. Shalom is roughly translated "peace;" roughly translated because there's various qualifiers as to the sort of peace implied and its many dimensions. The people who spoke this word in its original context liked to pack a big punch in their words, keeping it very economical as to their actual words yet being very profligate in their meaning. Sometimes I do that too.

What is this Shalom peace? How may we have it and show it? These are the questions that are asked and answered. At this point in the discussion, I drift off. So I'm not 100% on what the answers are. I just know that if it's so complicated and obscure that it has to be explained a million times, then others aren't getting it either. But my guess would be: It's some kind of concept of peace that is like a reclaiming of an essential part of our being, whereas the turmoil and conflict we know is foreign to that, born out of our less essential desires, less essential but more prevalent because of our wayward focus. That's probably true, but who knows? That's why it has to be explained all the time. But it sounds good.

My own thought on this is that they're all missing the boat. And that the essential part of man has one true drive, which is often thwarted. And that of course is to be involved in industrial activity. Whether he is hammering together a small birdhouse or putting the finishing touches on a hospital bed, he needs to do something with his mind and his hands

Industry is the true Shalom, where you can celebrate the true peace that man is meant to possess. You step out into your backyard and there's a factory stretching from one edge of your property to the other. You step in the door and flip the switch. A dozen different conveyor belts lurch into action, running in perfect harmony. Big metal panels, depending on what you're making, shake at the ceiling, then come down the track just as they must, awaiting a quick paint job and maybe a screw.

The true Shalom is hearing that everlasting hum of the machines, feeling the vibration in the levers you push and pull, and watching the raw materials go in one end of the building and the finished product coming out the other. Then you see one of your cousins come around the building with his forklift to carry it to the warehouse. That's when you know the true peace, and you're filled with hope, the hope that he's sober and won't drop it on the way.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Juggling All My Industrial Hats

I'm up with the chickens, which means very early. Looking out over the property toward the eastern horizon of the world, I see the roseate fingers of dawn working their way up the backside.

For me, this is the time of day to get an early start if one is to be had. Because if I wait until it's later, the time for an early start will have passed. So here I am.

The minutes I have -- each one is precious. So precious, in fact, that it's getting to be true that each minute I use doing one thing is one I'm stealing from something else. It's a fierce schedule I'm keeping. I'm wearing too many hats. I'm juggling a lot of duties these days in the business of industry.

There will be quite a few orders -- accounts payable and accounts receivable, as well -- in my mail, I'd guess. These won't be just for me (I'm serving as an agent for some of my neighbors), even though I'm working on some of my own industries, and there likely will be some bills coming in from neighbors for supplies and other help they've given me. Fortunately I'm able to balance out those with a few accounts receivable that I have in everyone else's mail, so they'll also be up early trying to get off their payments to me before sending out their own bills.

These days, with all this fierce activity, juggling all these duties, wearing so many hats, seeing that the work of industry grinds on, I'm getting a first hand understanding of the old phrase "cash flow." I'm getting a first rate education on the subject. Back before I had a hand in the flow of cash, I used to picture it (the phrase) in very literal terms, such as cash flowing through a pipe somewhere. In my defense, at the bank they literally did have cash in a container being shot through a pipe, some sort of pneumatic sending/receiving device that, now that I think of it, would make a terrific knock-off for someone in this neighborhood, like me, if I had the time...

Anyway, in addition to all those matters, I still am something of a spokesman for the Residential Industrial Movement, answering various press queries about how things are going, and who else they can talk to, who there would be who has a few minutes time to talk to them. Because that's the way it is for most of us -- everyday we're looking at a fierce schedule, we're juggling a lot of duties, and we're wearing a lot of hats. I have neighbors who are so busy they're barely able to mow the little tufts of grass left on their property or change their pants. They're either out oiling a forklift or buffing their signage if they can find a spare second to do it.

And I'm trying to be faithful to this, writing the blog, trying to document the whole thing, with the belief I have that there's someone out there with enough time on his hands that he can read it. It's a real sacrifice for me, so obviously I hope it's not in vain. All the duties I'm juggling, I can barely spare a moment. The fierce schedule I'm on, it's go go go! And all the hats I'm wearing, it's getting to the point where it's almost too many. And yet I press on, getting up early, getting an early start on the day, hoping that everything will get done that needs to be done.

Does it wear on me? I'd be a liar if I just gave a flat "no." It's wearing on me somewhat, I'll leave it at that. It could be that I've bit off more than I can chew. I hope not. I'm definitely going to keep trying. I'm not giving up. But at some point I can see that I might have to pare back on some of it. Certainly the accounts payable and the accounts receivable stuff has to be kept up. I need to pay for my goods and supplies or they won't send them to me. And everyone else has to pay me or I won't be sending them anything either or doing tasks for them. So those two things are inviolable. What there is that might be pared back, that's for another day to decide.

The Residential Industrial Movement goes on, ever onward and upward, a fierce schedule for all involved, with lots of hats and duties.

Friday, July 16, 2010

Industrial Strength In Numbers

Since yesterday I've been celebrating my accomplishment both in numbers and years. With my 100th industrial post -- in the process of 101 right now -- I've been reflecting on the great significance of both numbers and the passing of years they represent.

When you have a significant number like that, and you know it also is applied to time, as in a century, it's really something to consider. Because, as numbers go, it's right up there, showing that the thing in question has been sustained and is long lasting; it's not fly by night or a mist that dissipates with the morning sky's blast furnace.

101 is auspicious as well, because it holds promise for the future. To me, 100 is more essentially the end of a series, then it takes that extra 1 to make it the beginning of something. But we go both ways on this, as is easy to see when we count decades as starting with the 0. Another way for me to explain my feelings on this is that 0 has put you to the line -- like the finish line, but 1 is the beginning of the race.

Whatever the feeling of the numbers, they do represent a great deal of time that has passed -- in this case 100 years -- with me remaining and abiding, not looking too shabby for such an enormous span. Frankly, I still feel fit as a fiddle, like I could easily write another 100 posts without slowing down or showing my age. I still feel young at heart, at least, and in this day and age that counts for a lot more than you'd think!

There's a lot of rusted out cylinders, especially to be found at industrial sites. Maybe they were used for storage of something 100 years ago. Animal musk at a tanning factory or the sharp ends of barbed wire clipped off before shipping out the finished spools. Neither one has a short half life, so it'd be easy to seal off the cylinders and just forget them. Workers retire, then die, and the upcoming generation doesn't know what to do, so they do nothing. Then you have a century of rust and decay and next thing you know it's both toxic and unpleasant. But I go on, no worse for the wear!

To me, 100 is a good industrial strength number. That's why we celebrate it. It hasn't got the unfulfilled promise of 99 and it's not feeling its oats like the more vigorous 101. It has arrived and it stands there proud, standing there actually long enough for a sculptor to have plenty of time to etch it in stone, if that's what the moment seems to call for. That's why there's so many commemorative 100's around. They breed like rabbits.

Anyway -- so be it. 101 is here. 101 is passing, industry remains, and the future appears like it might turn out to be bright.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

This Industrial Century -- 100!

The spread of the Residential Industrial Movement, starting to fulfill the ultimate but unrealized promise of industrialism in the world, has been a beautiful thing.

It's been so beautiful that I feel I'm now in a position to declare this "The Century of Industrialism." There, having done that, I can point out the beautiful 'happenstance' that this is my 100th industrialism post, a century, literally a hundred years of posts.

Like something one of our industrial brethren would make -- perhaps a redesigned rivet meant to last 10 times longer than the older, less reliable ones -- my own achievement has been both been creative and has given new hope to men everywhere.

Before, industrialism was the sole domain of the major industrial powers, who kept their power by exploiting and denying the rest of us. That left the rest of us to take what was left over, which generally turned out to be nothing. Then -- I'll just call it inspiration ... The inspiration was given for something new. At first it was a reaction against industrialism, a call to arms. Once arms had been brandished, we turned the tables on the powers and set down industrial roots of our own!

That was the major turning point. We put the old adage into practice, that what was good for the goose was good for the gander. As far as we were concerned, turnabout was fair play. We confronted the industrial powers at first with blunt force, which only made them tougher. Then we regrouped and showed up to play on their turf, having as our operating principle the very simple principle that 'We can do the same thing!' If they can have industries of their own, then all of us can have them!

So we have made great strides in the last century! It's gone much faster and smoother than you'd think.

Now we have the future to look forward to. And we can rest easier at this point, knowing that the future will also be something we build. What we've done in the past, we shall see, will only be prologue to a new future that stretches out before us and will reveal greater successes and opportunities. The major industrial powers, in the days when they covered our eyes, told us our best days were behind us, but now we know ... the future is endlessly bright, and from this point nothing bad will ever happen again.

We honor the true heroes of this movement. The true hero is not me, even though I had a big hand in getting this thing off the ground. I was the one who saw the problem and happened upon the solution. But had it not been me, it could've been someone else. The fact that no one was stepping up to the plate makes it look like it was meant for me to do. But truly, it could've been anyone else.

Be all that as it may, it turned out that I did it and got it done. So now we turn once again, to honor the true heroes of this movement, the millions of backyard industrialists who are churning out an endless stream of appliances, parts, equipment, and goods. Keep dreaming. Let the next 100 years be as great as the last! And we'll meet you over there somewhere, on the brightest shore that we can imagine, the other side of the future where everything is a reward of some sort.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Industry Is Nature's Way

With the dawn of a new day, I stepped outside to let Underbrush pee and poo and I noticed the sun coming over the horizon. To the east, that's the direction I was looking.

Looking up at that fiery orb -- old Sol -- it occurred to me that the sun was the constantly stoked blast furnace in nature's industrial section. And that, really, when you think of it, that's all there is, one big natural industrial section, producing, presenting, and ultimately consuming everything. It's like biting your own lip; you're feeding on yourself.

Back inside, I made some coffee, and that went OK. In the kitchen the light was on, a weaker version of the blast furnace in the sky. But here in my international blogging citadel, the other room, the light isn't so good. The other day I moved a stand-up lamp from next to my desk to next to my bed, so I could read for a few minutes at night before bed. That means the lighting near my desk is very poor. But, no matter, I just pushed the curtains aside to let in the light from our common blast furnace. Problem solved!

The more I think about industry and industrial works, the more I see how right it all is. Before, we were in our normal, ho-hum residential areas, clipping the bushes, whacking the weeds, edging our sidewalks (personally, I wasn't, since the sidewalk doesn't go by our property), and keeping our lawns mowed to no real purpose, since all we were doing with it was letting it grow so we could mow it again. Our lives were empty. Then, with the Residential Industrial Movement, we finally put our properties to some use, replacing the emptiness with industry. Now we're happy!

What caused the big switch? My belief is that we're finally a little more in harmony with nature and nature's way. Because, as it turns out, nature is industry. The bees show it, cramming themselves in a hive, stepping over one another on their way in and out, making honey, then selling it to bears. That's why bears hibernate, to give bees more time to get honey manufactured. And we can easily see there's no slowdown in the construction industry, if we start including all the animal and insect construction going on in good times and bad. Nests, mud homes, holes in trees, dams ... the list goes on of all the places that are being built.

Take a look, those of you who are ignorantly yearning for empty green space: Nature will show you! We're here to be industrious, to manufacture and present our goods on the open market. From the time we get up till nightfall, when the blast furnace is still roaring over China, that's what life is meant to be!

So I'm up for the day. Thinking about what I can do, whether it's making a tire, generating electricity, or building a house. We're all part of nature and we all need to fit in.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

This Industrial Heaven

There are those who say we can find perfect fulfillment by our openness to what is given in life, seeing that we ourselves are given. It's what they call the essential nature of grace, that many, going down a blind path, conceptualize and unwittingly turn away from.

All that is well and good as far as it goes, of course. But a more mature approach sees the true fulfillment in nothing so spacious, ambiguous, and undefinable. Instead, we see the real fulfillment in simply hammering away, getting in there and doing something. Working with our hands, letting our mind lead us in the experience of production. Being industrious.

Before I got into industrialism, looking back on it now, I can see I was just as unhappy as millions of others. I would try to find the elusive prize in nature, or I'd try to open myself, like I said above, to things that couldn't be adequately pinned down. And again, like many, I saw there was always more promise than delivery in that life.

But then I came to realize that the true heaven is the heaven of our own making, by building, horsetrading, selling, and the other experiences of industrialism. This industrial heaven is one that is not far off in the future never to be attained in fact, but it's right here, right now, attainable by every man.

If you've got the hunger for it, this freedom ... If you've got the desire to go beyond, to attain the promise ... then, really, I have to say, get on board. It's here for every man, every man who's willing to work for it ...

What you do is what the others of us in the Residential Industrial Movement are doing: You come up with some kind of industrial works right where you live -- whatever you choose -- and you plug yourself into it immediately, without delay. You come up with something that's either being made already or something that you've just now dreamt of. If it can be made, make it and sell it!

The outcome is a lot like the promise of art, without the great need for talent or existing museums to hang your masterpieces in. The promise of art is that you'll have fulfillment beyond measure just by daubing some paint randomly on a canvas like any monkey can do. Of course that's ridiculous. But this -- all the aspects of this industrial heaven as I've described them -- is true, 150% true! And within reach.

I know a guy -- nobody could do a thing with him. He was in his '40s and was still a juvenile delinquent. The guy was so bad you wished a terrorist would kill him. Art therapy, music therapy, religious intercession, and even the threat of prison -- tough love -- did him no good. Before long, he was getting tattoos and just generally making a nuisance of himself. It was so constant his caregivers never got breaks. He'd spit at you ... or worse. Most of them resigned or themselves had to be committed.

Then this guy -- Life itself hated his guts -- got a taste of industrialism. One of his neighbors, not really trying to spur him into action, consciously, showed him he could do things with his hands. This guy put his hand to a small task -- in this case it was cutting out pieces of wax paper to be used as the membrane in hearing aids. And just like that, he was hooked. Within a week he had a whole industry on his lot, including the smokestack (!), and he's been making "baker's dozen" egg cartons ever since, an ingenious innovation of an old standard, with a space for a 13th egg!

His story is a happy one. He loves it. And we wish him well.

Monday, July 12, 2010

The Puzzle Of Industry

Here's one I call "The Puzzle of Industry." The thoughts I have are like a thousand separate pieces on a table, each one not necessarily oriented the way it needs to be to form a coherent whole when attached.

Is there any better illustration of chaos than the un-put-together puzzle? There's not. Maybe the raging, roaring sea. That would be a good illustration of it. But if you're like me, you have a hard time picturing the raging, roaring sea; I live inland, and even though I've seen an ocean, it was from the shore and I couldn't comprehend the size. So it's a toss up of those two things, the sea and a puzzle. I'll take the puzzle since we actually have puzzles around the house.

I'll run and get one right now. OK, here it is. Jiggle the box and hear the pieces, already chaotic, becoming more chaotic the more I shake it. They have no orientation except a random, crazy, nutty one, oriented to one another in no reliable way.

The same thing is true of industry, not strictly but sort of. Like I was pointing out some months ago, there does appear to be some relation of industry and the railroads. And of course industry has traditionally been relegated to the edge of town, which then, because of growth, eventually puts it closer to downtown. There's the spatial elements of industry that goes along with the puzzle illustration.

Then there's the idea of having the various industries relate to each other. The way it's worked ever since we came up with transportation more advanced than the burro is that one thing doesn't have to be next to the other, except obviously the tracks or road. The place that makes steel girders can be far away from the skyscraper construction site. Or in terms of one industry relating to another, the steel girder place can be clear across town from the rivet manufacturer.

My own sense is that the whole thing is a hodgepodge, again like the puzzle in the box. With the big difference being that you can easily pick up the puzzle pieces and move them around on the table. But when a steel girder factory puts down roots, it's tough to move it. If they see it's got a bad location, they just have to deal with it. The rivet guy learns to live with it too. We all do.

It'd be better if we could've had a super mind with clairvoyance, Einstein in a sweat house, look down the corridors of time and see precisely what needed to go where, then sketch it out on a sheet of paper which could've been fed into a super computer to coordinate the whole thing. The problem with that is that the corridors of time never end, so it's tough to foresee what industry will be like a thousand years or a million years from now. So we're left with a hodge podge. Although some of the kids I saw on Jeopardy's "Kid's Week" shows might be about smart enough to come up with something. Except by now it's too late.

The same thing has essentially happened with the Residential Industrial Movement. Instead of taking it slow and sketching out a master plan -- which would be a lot harder when the industry you have is of your own choosing and necessarily is located on the land you already own -- everyone just dove right in and started manufacturing.

The puzzle piece jiggling goes on, a chaos, as it always has and always will. 

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Industrialism: Man's Birthright

My forays into the thought and philosophy of industrialism have now reached the peak, I seem to perceive; if, however, there are other unimagined peaks to be discovered later, I will count that a blessing. But at this point, I have reached the top (insofar as I can discern), and am of a mind to survey the vast and beautiful territory ranging all around me.

It is an awe-inspiring thing for me to dwell on the subject simply for moments, let alone the many hours and whole days I have to do so. That, I am not ashamed to say, is almost too rich even for me. I know plenty of other people who would be instantly consumed by one hint of this joy, who would be swept away by even a whiff of the experience. It's like biting into a piece of really expensive chocolate; you know that some guy in a really tall white hat spent hours mixing the ingredients from an old family recipe, and he's good enough to have his own show on the Food Network, if only he had a single impure thought.

I've been at the depths, that's for sure; I've hit rock bottom a few times, like when the major industrialists had me confined (they thought) in an ongoing situation of virtual house arrest. I had to sneak out in Grandma's clothes, pushing my bicycle silently for several miles before I was free to wheel off and find a internet hot spot to write my posts. Those were the days of suffering in relative obscurity, a flickering beacon of light in a dark world. Although, who knew, I can look back on those days now and see I was actually very happy. It's a great thing -- it's a lot easier to see this in hindsight -- to be alone in a pursuit.

Being alone like I was, at the time I was begging for someone else to get on board ... safety in numbers and all that. But no one would. It felt very bad at the time. Now, thinking back, how sweet it was ...

Anyway, time passed, and I underwent a kind of conversion, no longer being against industrialism per se, but seeing industrialism's true bloom as being every man's birthright. It turned out that what I was railing against, unknown to me at the time, was the idea that only the major industrial powers should have the power. That gave them too much power and put the rest of us at a terrible disadvantage. Our birthright was being denied.

Then came the Residential Industrial Movement, announced not so much as a doctrine but as a flash of insight. It boiled down to this: If every man can't have his own industry, why should anyone have one? Or, maybe I could say it more positively: If some men can have their own industry, the rest of us can too. That's still a little clumsy. How about: Industry, to be good, has to be open to all of us! That just about covers it.

And now I know just how true it is! I've seen throughout our neighborhoods, all the times I've been out nosing around all the residential industrial sections, the happiness of production. We now have the means of production and the ability to produce. We're putting out goods left and right, and it's a joyous thing. No man forgets the thrill of his first truckload of goods heading to a flea market somewhere to be picked over and to have something bought. It might be a dozen disposable diapers or spare parts for a 1940s lawn mower that you've decided to manufacture, it doesn't matter.

Yes, I've reached the top of the top. Insights are flowing like the old fashioned drinking fountains in the park, the ones that ran all the time. You stop, you get a drink, you look back and it's still coming out. If there's joy, blessing, and victory unknown beyond this point, please spare me until I'm ready to incorporate it into this already quivering organism. It's all too much!

Saturday, July 10, 2010

The Brotherhood Of Industrial Man

The brotherhood of man has been the ideal every man has sought throughout history but has always been denied.

Going back, way back, of course there were Cain and Abel, who were denied it. It might've been they hadn't yet realized that smacking someone with a cudgel would be fatal. Whatever it was, one rash smack and the whole thing was over, no brotherhood of man. And it marked Cain for life.

Since then, we became more familiar with the ways of cudgels, adding to our arsenals every weapon known to man, including the hoe, the rake, and the shovel. There have been times when it's been all out war, with many falling on the battlefield and being left for dead. Some indeed did die. Others crawled away to nurse their wounds in solitude, avoiding others, becoming hermits, still with a sense about the brotherhood of man in their hearts without any longer having any conscious desire to attain it.

I was the same way -- ending up here at my grandmother's house, becoming the man of the house by process of elimination, after Grandpa died. Then the rest of the family got older and feeble and couldn't make it back as often. My high school friends got married, had kids, and moved on. Then I became acquainted with a few people at church, but for the most part they're such fanatics that it's hard to be around them. That's the way it turned out.

But I have eyes, I could always see what was going on around me. People were content to do the whole residential thing, tending their lawns, waving as they drove by while also locking their door. Most people bought a TV and so they confined themselves to their house to sit in cobwebs while the TV flashed strange colors and lights around the room, making a weird silhouette of them behind, while they would occasionally laugh if they saw something funny.

I would go outside once in a while and look up at the sky. Then I'd look down and go back in. That's what you do when there's a yearning in your heart that you can't speak with your tongue. And the yearning was this, for the brotherhood of man.

And who knew how it would come about? It happened basically by accident, or accident and a combination of divine whim. It took the Residential Industrial Movement to finally make it happen. I was down in the mouth about the major industrial powers, so I and a few neighbors responded with creating our own industries. The idea caught on, swept the nation. They've tried to hush it up and fight it, but that's tough to do; once you have your own tire factory, all you can think of it making tires ... and friends.

You need friends, obviously, because you want to sell tires. Or diapers. Or shoes. Or hospital beds. Or the button panels for elevators. Or vats. And those friends need friends. Everyone suddenly needs friends, not just for selling to, but for buying from, to help with defense against the major industrial powers, etc. It all builds on itself.

I realized all this when the community came together to build Ted Spooner's first vat. We were no longer sitting on our couches alone and sad. We were together as the brotherhood of industrial man. Finally, we had something in common -- a common humanity worth celebrating!

Friday, July 9, 2010

Residential Industrialists Finish First Spooner Vat

We're declaring that "by proxy" Old Man Spooner "did it himself," and finished off his company's first vat.

The fact is, he did it with a little help from his friends, but, no matter, we aren't looking for any credit. As far as we're concerned, the first completed Spooner vat was done by him and his family, the first Spooner vat being accomplished in-house.

Old Ted dreamed big when it came to the promises of the residential industrial movement. The rest of us have been generating electricity, stamping out shoes, manufacturing tires, assembling and packing disposable diapers, making X-ray machines, etc. -- mostly easy stuff. But Ted and the whole Spooner family bit off a much bigger piece of the industrial chew, electing against all odds to make vats.

Vats are the stuff of industry, you might say they're big behind the scenes. But there's very little obviously glamorous about the vat. They never give them away on "The Price Is Right." They're seldom rolled out with fanfare like the new models of cars in the fall, with showgirls. The Sunday paper ads never have this week's bargains on vats and accessories. Even the trade magazines by and large have turned a blind eye to the vat. The assumption has always been, you need one, you get one, no questions asked.

But being the stuff of industry, you can't walk into a factory or an industrial section very far without coming across a vat. Because you need somewhere to put it, whatever it is. In a processing plant for animals, for example, you need somewhere for the various parts to go, heads, feet, insides, etc. You might fill a vat and roll it into cold storage or immediately wheel it down to the train yard, emptying it with the help of a big machine that comes down, clamps on to the side posts and pulls it up, allowing gravity to do its job to completion.

The fact is, though, as many vats as there are, they're very tough to make, if you haven't got exactly the right formula or plan or equipment or parts to do it. And that was the problem at the Spooners. Ted was trying to make them, I'd say on the cheap, with parts and tools that weren't necessarily made for that purpose. Where would he get the parts? And even if he could find the parts, it's tricky. If you don't get the sides welded together just so, they're going to fall apart, leak, or be ultimately unusable. So it took quite a while and he had very little to show for his efforts.

And then it happened. Even though "Safety First" is a motto we've all heard, there was a major injury, with three sides of one vat falling every which way with Ted right there in it. And strapped in a welding helmet like he was, of course he couldn't get his bearings or recognize just what was going on. All he knew was the crushing weight was very very heavy, much too heavy for a few of his old bones to withstand, and that meant something had to give. He might've died, but thankfully he pulled through, sustaining only some major crushing to his lower extremities, as well as two broken arms, a battered neck, incidental abrasions, and a headache to boot.

At that point, the Spooners might've easily given up and left the residential industrial movement, going back to backyard gardening and tending their koi pond, and nobody would've blamed them. But thanks to their selfless neighbors -- showing the true spirit of cooperation, unlike the major industrial powers, for whom the survival of the fittest is the creed -- everyone pitched in, bringing welders, welding helmets, heavy duty coveralls, matches, etc., and the first vat was officially assembled and left shining brand new at the end of their line.

Ted was wheeled in in a hospital bed that some of the folks to the south had made and lent him. Then the rest of us parted, revealing to him the vat setting there in all its glory. He looked at it with a smile, showing pride. One of his arms seemed to stir, which Mrs. Spooner noticed. She reached down and lovingly helped his hand make a "thumbs up" and lifted it about an inch off the bed. Shouts of appreciation were heard for miles around.

Then each man returned to his home, feeling warm inside.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Industrial Turnabout Is Fair Play

The standards conclave had just adjourned and the delegates had started to scatter to the four corners ready to ply their industrial trade, when, lo and behold, the vultures swooped in.

We proffer our apologies to actual vultures, because as scurrilous as an actual vulture is these guys are 10 times worse. You probably guessed who I'm talking about, patent attorneys with their infernal papers.

The way it works really is that the patent attorneys sit in their luxury citadels somewhere while a combination of process servers and law enforcement comes in to do their dirty work. So we're not diverted or distracted about who to blame. And even saying that, the patent attorneys aren't 100% to blame, since they represent the major industrial powers, somewhere in even better luxury citadels.

But if we can take out the middle man, then of course we're free to continue on on our merry way, which is for the best. Because we're not doing anything wrong.

The whole system of patents has become corrupt to the point that, given the choice, they would stymie Edison himself! Because nowadays men are patenting glimpses of ideas they had one day while sitting in the course of a particularly strenuous bowel movement! Seriously! To legally come up with a new refrigerator design these days you'd literally have to make it look like a tuba, that's how many "ideas" they've left out there for the rest of us!

But they didn't anticipate what the residential industrial movement would do, which is to create our own bureau of residential patent attorneys, certifying them according to their own ambition and our need. We simply established our own law, that proxy trespassing is illegal, not to jail those who serve papers but the ones who've commissioned them.

Even now we have black hooded residential enforcement officers scouring the country, searching for patent attorneys and their industrial power masters, to jail them in our own residential jails and to try them. We know what they look like as they sip drinks in their citadels, maniacal and bleary-eyed.

This is going to be a game changer, because the rules and numbers are now on our side!

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

A Perfect Fit For Industries

I called for a coming together, a joining of hearts and minds, the best minds of the neighborhoods. My purpose, to see if we could work together and make everything fit in the output of the residential industries.

If things don't fit together, that's no good. It'd be OK for artwork, nailing, bolting, gluing, hooking any assortment of random parts together, everything dangling there, preferably moving slowly in the wind. But for something with an end in the consumer market, small scale or large scale, it has to be appropriate for the consumer's use, fitting in the hand if that's its purpose or meshing in harmony with other parts and components if it's part of a larger whole.

The call went out, first for everyone's feelings on the subject, that when the conclave commenced we would be that much farther ahead. I also asked, based on the honor system, for delegates to be selected among the various neighborhoods and industrial divisions.

We chose my own half acre for the gathering, securing the services of a residential tent-maker to pitch us one of his finest products wherein we would proceed. He knew a guy a few blocks up who makes chairs, and he was happy to put his products on display by allowing the gathering to sit on them, beaming with pride. Anything else we needed for this affair we either secured from various residential sources or found in the garage or basement.

Then we depended on our own pooled intelligence, going by the principle that if you have a large enough group someone there is going to know it. It works with trivia, usually, so it also works with other things. The finest minds of our neighborhoods -- working in common cause -- rose to the occasion.

A lot of it was a matter of dividing up the industries in their groups, then keeping those who may span different industries toward the edges. At some point we lost our individuality and became more like a gigantic single organism with a brain that functioned in a top notch capacity at the highest speed and efficiency for computing, calculating, and problem solving. It was amazing, we thought alike. We got thirsty at the same time and had to answer nature's call en masse.

I gaveled the meeting to order. That was the easy part. Every eye was on me. I eyed my notes tentatively. Then I set them aside and spoke from the heart. Acclaim was received, with applause. The general session got underway. Then the divisions were made. Business followed. Decisions were made. A spirit of friendship and mutuality prevailed. With a long day together, everything was settled.

From this point on, the residential industrial movement will have no trouble putting out products that the public will be happy to buy and use.

With that, I asked for a motion to adjourn. Everyone was eager to get going, to return to their homes and factories to bring forth their products in the days lingering ahead. Now we would have the utmost confidence that things were being made that were entirely good. Cars would look good. Hospital beds would roll down the hallway smoothly. Disposable diapers would not sag even when full.

Every eye was on me for what I was called by acclaim to do, gavel the session closed and bid everyone safe travels and good fortune for the future.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Kids Get In On The Industrial Act

It's always been cute to see kids out selling lemonade on the sidewalk.

I remember trying it a couple times myself with lemonade and Kool-Aid. A kindly adult would come along, feel sorry for us and buy a drink. Then I'd feel very self-conscious, knowing these were pity purchases and give up. It was embarrassing. It takes a real tycoon type, like Donald Trump probably when he was a kid, to sit there and not feel embarrassed and even jack up the price.

But there's different kinds of kids just like there's different kinds of everything else, insects, trees, or cars. And I get the impression that today kids -- maybe through a lack of known ancestors who went through the Depression -- would just as soon you gave them your entire wallet and skipped the drink. They're a lot wilder.

That's not to say we haven't got good kids. Some of the kids on my block are probably good kids. They're like us in certain ways, they take after their parents. They're not rebellious until they're about 16. After that, they'd just as soon stab you in the back. Now, with all the residential industrial activities, my advice to parents would be to keep all your patents in a safety deposit box, because your kids could very well steal them and leave you without rights.

But when they're young, they're a little more innocent, and so their little activities are cute. But even then they can kind of give away the family secrets, if you know what I mean.

I saw an example of this yesterday. Some of the kids from way up the block, over toward the southeast, had a little stand outside, a table, and were selling X-ray machine wheels. Isn't that cute? It would be, except there's some family secrets being given away. One, now I know that someone up there's making X-ray machines. And two, they must be pretty far along to be down to the wheels already! (Or, I know, maybe they started with the wheels and are working up, since if you built it top down it might be pretty heavy and tougher to get wheels on.)

But there they were, as innocent as anything, with a little table and a pile of freshly manufactured wheels, selling them one for 15 cents or two for a quarter. I picked up a couple, and I might surprise their parents later on with the news, that their little darlings are giving away the family business before it even gets off the ground!

Monday, July 5, 2010

How Industry Has To Work Together

I don't know exactly how it's going with every residential industrialist around the country. I'm very limited, barely able to keep tabs on my own town. I'd love to get one of those big maps and an auditorium where I could sit and look at it light up, such as every time a residential industry is established. You know, if you go to Long John Silver's you can ring the bell on your way out if they do a good job, so I would sit at my big map ringing my bell all day.

But whether I personally know what's happening or not, I do know what I read in the residential newspapers, that the residential industrial movement is sweeping the nation. I know there's at least a dozen tire factories in my little town alone! And that's just one sector of the overall industrial world. There's so much everything else being churned out by men in their garages and yards that it can't even be calculated. You really notice it when you go to buy something from a neighbor and it's a buyer's market. I can get all the tires I want straight from the factory wholesale, with so much competition that the price is kept very low. And remember, I've got a proposal on the table for my own tire factory!

Making tires, though, is the easy part. They come in about 40 standard sizes, although that could change at any time if the residential car manufacturers come up with new sizes. And that's what I wanted to address today, to sketch out ever so briefly ... standards and making things fit together.

At some point the residential industrial powers are going to have to work together just like the oppressive major industrial powers have over the years. Their advantage has come from over a hundred years of entrenched development, whereas we're jumping in fresh in already established markets with all kinds of standards that have had plenty of time to evolve.

I was thinking of this yesterday. I was out nosing around the local hospital as kind of a spy, looking for things that might be manufactured cheaper to undercut the big boys. Some of the designs appeared very specialized, like the fixtures they have dangling from the ceiling in the emergency rooms and other wards. Then some of them are quite predictable, like the circular design of the wheels on various carts and beds. I could be stamping out wheels everyday, but they need to fit!

I was able to take one picture on the sly (see above). I feel this one picture illustrates the conundrum that's occupied me for the last day. That bed clearly has numerous pieces that have to fit together. And I believe the manufacturer probably got pieces from other manufacturers, meaning they all had to work together to get it done. You don't just have one manufacturer out there saying, "I feel like making pieces for the bottoms of hospital beds" without knowing precisely how it's supposed to fit in the overall design.

In the residential industrial movement, it's my belief that to this point we've been "catching as catch can" on some of these issues. But before long, it's going to be very necessary to work together, if we want everything to fit together. Disposable diapers have been easy. It's nothing but plastic, tape, and some kind of smushy soft stuff in the middle. No one cares how it looks put together. It's even cute if the baby has a baggy diaper hanging practically to the floor. But hospitals aren't so easy to please!

If we're going to be making hospital beds, as well as everything else the major industrial powers have been making for them, we're going to have to work together. That is clear. So let's do it! Let's work together. Starting ... right now.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Our Declaration Of Industrial Independence

We the People ... are sick of all the King Georges of the world, which is our July 4th term for the major industrial powers.

So, by the power vested in me by divine right, along with my fellow subjects (or citizens), we make a necessary explanation of our revolt, the best we can do off the top of my head this early in the morning. That's only fitting, we believe, just so we can set the record straight and hopefully divert as much incoming fire as we can as well as guff.

As is known by the various states -- past, present, and future -- we have suffered grievous afflictions aplenty from the oppressive hand of the major industrial powers, all the King Georges of the world.

They have polluted our towns and communities. They have exploited our people. They have claimed real estate and zoning privileges by both hook and crook. They have the legal system in their back pocket through corruption at all the many echelons. In short, it's a mess.

This we have endured long enough, and we have been left very little choice about what to do about it. Therefore, in deliberate assembly, and looking to a future with brighter horizons, ourselves being made of sterner stuff, we have declared and shall again declare our independence today and henceforth from these King Georges, the major industrial powers.

What we shall raise up in their place is industry as was intended by our Creator, along with the inalienable rights and appurtenances pertaining thereunto, world without end, in flagrante delicto. To wit, residential industries, owned and governed by every man after his personal choice.

Each man shall possess and perpetuate the several industrial arts according to his own lights and those bestowed upon him as a free entity. There will be no more "them's the breaks" from the entrenched industrial powers. In the stead of this, they will be brought down, and must be brought down into the dust, and/or hanged by their several necks until they are finally, utterly, and severally dead.

By our own hands we have affixed our several signatures, knowing that our fates are in the hands of fate and an all-seeing benevolent God, having one eye and being perched at the crowning block of a mighty pyramid.

D.B. Kundalini
Alice Slump
Joe Butler
Ted Spooner
Ike Bisom
(Hundreds of other signatures have been redacted, perhaps thousands.)