Next to nothing in my past could say less about who I am than to title this script... Shambhala...that's just 'what' came to mind when I started. Someone had read my last blog about"nothing" and said "interesting". I was happy to find a reader other than myself and some initial incentives to continue by other more established Blogstreamers, who commented when I first started.... The "blogstream" is definitely a different kettle of fish. I'm lucky to have discovered it. There are some really righteous people here. I do hereby attest. So I checked out the 'commenters' blog and was duly impressed... as I am with each new discovery of another compatriot- in this land of self-aggrandizing discovery. I am sure a cold kettle of fish tonight. The day wasn't that bad. I worked ...went to Seattle with a client ...took my daughter to dance... fell asleep on the couch...was awakened by my wife walking in with our youngest son and his friend. They were here to get his car back on the road. My daughter... now home was having fits, because suddenly her computer was on the fritz and I had to go outside to get a work light for the 23 year olds, who were perfectly happy to work on the vehicle in a light drizzle with no light. Oh! they did kind of say they needed light, but did they ask for the shed key to go get it themselves. Our son's friend is the mechanic in the group. My wife and I are pretty handy with the wrenches, but we weren't volunteering...and well... Turns out... it was probably the alternator, but the battery is so corroded...it might be multiple causes of dis-junction. So we got multiple scenarios working this evening. The next episode of"24" is coming on soon after turning off dancing with the stars. What are we going to do without the Olympics? Thankfully the garden awaits. Back to the rest of what's real. My wife was off to the nearest auto parts store while I finished up the dishes ...did some laundry...set the table... proved it wasn't the monitor I'd bought at the thrift store ...and then it all came together. She - my women came home and cooked up the farmed salmon and we all sat down ... less our son's friend and now it is near twelve and our car-less son is laying on the couch watching Hank Hill-the comedic Texan who sells natural gas in Fort Worth. The cartoon version of real-life. Television is a very positive influence. Right. Just said by Hank. "Where is it said...a father and son have to love each other let alone like each other"? Now he's telling a cartoon Jimmy Carter that he hates his father and the ex-president is doing an intercession. Now they're getting into the nuclear option. I have to go now, but this has at least been another edition of "These Troubled Times" That skit ended up with a shoot-out with nail guns and Hank and his Dad making up. So for now -this is your humble reporter- Trust the Rust. cya

Certainly, I should have finally advanced into a different line of questioning. I have yet to be very happpy with my point production and my defense has been woeful. There are lines of attack here. Now that show is over.{Ring-g-g-g!] Dinner this evening was delightful. Mommy, my wife - I have never called her that and I won't ever do that again. It certainly isn't something I am proud of. My women, as her sister refers to her, when she talks to me peripherally, in any phone exchange, where she is actually calling to talk to my dear wife...is just fine. I have so many agendas tonight, with none having enough hang time to actually fly. So later, much later...but actually only seconds later I dropped in and found new things cropping up and a real reason to carry on. I have so many things on my plate. I wish to find the natural course between here and there and be efficient and get them done in a tiny wave of excitement. Being a real procrastinator. There I said it. I don't stand up usually, until it is too late, and my effort becomes less than what might have been, but still consistently average and certainly [such crap] that I am embarrassed to even say that this way of writing certainly can be so shameful, when the driver is lost and distracted. Listening to the Olympics from the next room. Okay!, I'm rooting for the Americans. I wish everyone well. We, my wife and I always watch the Olympics. Don't know why. Also Americain Idol,24,The Apprentice and E.R..That's about it for her, except for movies like Kill Bill,and the Lord movies and Bourne Id.....y et al...that our 25 year old brings home. I contribute some movies from the library. Every once in awhile I accidentally come across a good one. I stay away from anything our 13 year old should not see or be affected by. I'll wait until the peer and school effect has done it's damage, then I will step in... and supplement the fine job my wife is doing. I am being facetious. Little girl is a fine student and dancer and singer and great all-around kid; As are all of our children. I am proud to say that I have been directly involved in the lives of four step children and two children , that I was father of. Oh God, my neck...Arghh!. Did I say something wrong. After weeks of convincing myself that I was very ill and probably had only a short time to live-I finally got the truth and it was that I have very bad osteo-arthritis in my neck(c-4 to c-7). Whew, I can deal with that. Pain is good. Just not when it is terminal. I could go on and tell you that my Mom had her knee replaced this week on Valentine's day. Two days after the surgery my Dad and brother from D.C. [they're back in Virginia] did 15 hours straight building a ramp and stair combo to give her easier access to the house in Richmond. Proud of you brother for helping out. A younger brother came the next day to finish the project. Dad is almost 84, Mom is 81. Oops!... He's 83 for seven more months. They both are very young in spirit and they surprise everyone with their determination to continue doing the things they love. oi vei! I am seeking a new slot in the lot. It is time to go on. This day and I are done for now. Trust the Rust,cya

Dropping in, from behind the curtain of low hills, he surmises the terrain and realizes there are no more than three people on the hill below him. He has just silently entered the kill zone. The opposing sides' combatants are just now moving out from their encampment. He sees that they have rucksacks and light field weapons. They wear the common patrol attire of the insurgency, which lingers in the hills around the capital. Hit and miss, their daily attacks have an ever wearing affect on the general discourse of life in this country that has come a million miles in the preceding years. The devolution of the effect of their futile attempt to spiral this new and reborn nation into chaos has fallen from the front pages, but the reality of nightly mortar attacks, and roadside bombings take their toll. I am an observer of a raw edge of the world, that has spun out of control for years. I see myself here in a remote way. My disconnect is that I am not invested in the outcome. I am only putting in my time at this point. I have sixty-two days to go and I'll be flying out to Kentucky on the first plane out. They're moving now ... down the wash between two sparsely covered hills. There is not a lot of cover. They probably have done this many times before. Their weapons are cloaked under their loose fitting native garb. They could be farmers or tradesmen or they could be soldiers, which is what they are. There determination is not self evident by their manner, but their seriousness is. They most likely have a planned attack. At a certain juncture they will be meeting up with identical guardians of the international insanity, that has become the jihadist mentality... The unique freedom to be crazy, insane, and wrong at the same time. This country was ripped from their hands and they will do anything to get it back. Somewhere out there... they must have a savior, who would sit them down and tell them that this is the wrong way and that it must end, but sadely, they are hell bent for leather to treat us to their idea of heaven. Sadely for these three they are soon to be on their way to: There are a few options here; I could write of the obvious, but that would leave no room for character development. I, in actual fact, have never written such a piece before . It obviously came out of nowhere, but did it. I think, we all think about the what if's of the terror war. Why can't we come to some real understanding. Is their compromise in a war of civilizations? Why has it come to this? As the world is brought together by technology - It is being torn apart by the divisions of race and sect and class and religion and politics and political theory and economic war and having and having not and just a general lack of respect and regard for history. We've been here before. Can't the hate just finally end. In the inimitable words of Rodney King "circa- LA riots"- can't we all just get along". That's sugar coating= the result of the thesis. There has got to be a way to make this all go away. I didn't spend my whole life spending: time and effort working for nothing. It never was about money. It has always been about love Now I know that is why I am here. God's little love man- the guy with the big heart. This of course is merely an exercise and a reveal into the fabulous and fractional world of the great Rusty. All in fun -I went with it ...on another dry well- tonight. I write first time- every time... just what the doctor ordered and now it is time for me to say goodnight, because I lost a chunk of my closing. I have to wonder, who is helping me... to edit. Technology is a beautiful thing. Trust the Rust cya

Cocoa-puffs and cranberries and certain clues along the way. I am in a state of certain extraction and not about to sweep the bed under the rug. I have a path worn and true blank stare and a sublime un-used sense of blame. My beating heart is sticky with blood and the dream of that new life is a long way ...away right now. I have not secured the premise of my time to the duty of being completely there. Which is the here-now question of the day. Acting on these inactions I find my self giving sway to the many avoidances availible every moment of the Hours in a day. Especially now, when even... here now... I have a hardly enough connection... to even know I exist, except for my sense of smell...brownies-just made by me and the interference of listening to the ages olde hobby of sharing the Thursday evening super-sonic throw weight of another issue of the mega dwarf [ER]...the show my wife and I have watched for the years we have been married. I think we have been married for about the same number of years as it has existed. It is retail trauma and pain dressed in a pretty dress and blended with latest cultural attractions.... It purveys the lifestyle of the upwardly mobile conscientious cold-pie of the internet age. we are the gadget fixtures and our pain is yours, because you haven't checked out enough from your personal library. I want someone to just smear me for being the dolt, that brought nothing to this stage and carries on as if any of this leads toward the door of committment. I have been reading like a maniac lately and all of the choices from above have been availible forever, but I had to go there to get here and now that I am back at the beginning I see some daylight. I will evict for now a bit of the old blue star day that is the music of our life. I am forever in every thought and theme of everyday and my love is always for the weight that we carry together and without which our virtue would be lost in a lobe of the ear of God, but because God listens constantly we are always availible to hear the words and directions of our path as the lead lays down the way. I will sleep now, because I am directly in the way of progress and it ircks me that I don't secure the necessary definition to succeed at the composition of thought forms that have always been in the pleura of my veins, but I have to recognize... that I am freeing up the reality of the way that is unique to me. The Rust is Trusty.cya

And then there were two. The commentary just flowed out of my frozen moment. I refuse to take anything for the pain. And then there were two. Again I repeat myself. I'm writing in the dark on a moonlit night, but not outside in the wind and the cold, only in my mind. We're cleaning up the leftovers in the broken dream of the entire community to be champions on the field of play. That was stolen by the zebra striped men of the inside version of what it takes to be the champion in today's world. No surprises... Just another rigged election. We went through that last year, so we here in Washington- were probably fully prepared to be put on our arses. Of course, I am not a player, but these guys on either side are phenomenal, so why not officiate in a way, that allows and assures everyone, who is watching that the winner is really worthy-by virtue of the sights and sounds and plans, that were in play; and the real outcome of the results not being the planned, but the real result of just what happenned in all of it's physical dynamic, and that it not be the drawn up starts and stops of planned for outcomes, that become ridiculously obvious, when Let me explain this. I can't get away from how this left us feeling and it would have been easy to swallow if it hadn't been so obvious to everyone. We are allowing it to stand, because in the end it is only a game of numbers on the field and off. I don't know about the collection data on the gambling, but I'm sure the protected class got their's. And the zebra men will get lots of comps to all kinds of venues. They are merely servants to the owners and Seattle's team ownership is an upstart against a dynasty and a legend in the old guard of the NFL, which I think get's more like the Hollywood hegemony everyday. And so it is, and we will go on and Spring is just around the corner and the sun will come up tomorrow, and I will be okay. So for now. It is good night and good luck. Trust The Rust. cya