Today: I Smiled

OK. It was yesterday but I was too tired at the end of the day to write it up.

It’s because of Sweden.

I needed to paint my old pharmhouse but standard oil paint has been slowly phased out and OUTLAWED in many states like ILL Annoyed. The state that I live in (Corn Fusion) is more famous for its Corrupt Governors than common sense. I could drive across the Bored Her to In Dee Anna to get some high VOC paint but the problem has always been that it is so toxic that it has made me very ill since my youth. With Forever chemicals like Xylene and other solvents that will not break down in the environment (which is a reason why the put that stuff and more in FRACKING FLUID), it is a wonder that many more people don’t get extremely ill from oil paint.

Latex paint is fuckshit.

I’ve painted with the ‘best’ of modern latex paint, and it is lucky if the coating lasts a year and the wood beneath doesn’t rot. This is beyond Planned Obsolesence into the realm of Family just outright criminally assaulting us with Insolencense.

So as not to imply that even Latex paint isn’t toxic as well and would make me ill and I dreaded painting anything for the sake of longevity.

Enter Sweden.

As I was investigating WHY oil paint - toxic though it might be - would last for FIFTY FUCKING YEARS! while latex (the only option left) barely makes it one year - I discovered that OIL paint was based on LINSEED OIL.

In fact, there was a citation that in Sweden there are buildings over

500 YEARS OLD

that were painted with linseed oil paint and get maintenance coats either yearly or as needed to keep them going.

That did it for me.

My first highschool crush was a Swedish girl with blonde hair and green eyes. Never been to Sweden, never had a chance in the Underworld with the beauty, but it leaves an impression.

I’m still working out the ratios of the ingredients because the apes that write about this are either protecting trade secrets or are too stupid to be allowed near a pencil, pen, or keyboard. Are the Percentiles for VOLUME or WEIGHT?

It makes a difference.

Butt, I’ve been painting with artist oil paints for years so I think I will work it out just based on texture/feel.

When I do I will NOT sell formulations as complete products.

The Powers that Pee (all over us) have such restrictions on shipping liquids and solvents (pure gum spirits of turpentine) that the cost of EIGHTY DOLLARS PER GALLON for these boutique paints is ‘almost’ justified in its rediculousness (and that’s WITHOUT shipping!).

Of course you HAVE to outlaw something that is toxic and Bad for the Plane-It and so economically STRANGLE the HIDDEN secret that would solve ALL of the problems that the only place that people run are to the toxic rubber-tree sap coatings that make you BUY MORE of the toxic rubber-tree coatings EVERY FUCKING YEAR. Makes sense…

So when I perfect the formula I will probably sell the recipe (people sell food recipes) where the nearly (I don’t recommend it) edible Linseed (Flax) Oil used as the base can be gotten locally or online.

I DO NOT USE BOILED LINSEED OIL BUT PURE REFINED LINSEED OIL.

The Boiled stuff is heat-treated but that is one of the dick-pulling jokes of Family Chemical Industry. It is boiled WITH TOXIC METALS TO OXIDIZE IT SO THAT IT POLYMERIZES FASTER. So fast, in fact, that if you toss a rag that you wiped your boiled linseed oil brushes with into a garbage receptacle you could have a vist by your local Fy Her De-Apartment.

DANGEROUS SHIT. On two fronts: the flammability of it and the carcinogens.

Until I did my FOUR YEARS of liver cleanses I would not be able to say that I enjoyed the smell of pure gum spirits of turpentine. But when mixed together the Linseed oil and the Turpentine did tempt me to take a nip (I didn’t) it smelled so good together.

AND THAT’S WHY I SMILED.

Because I’m working on a project and priming it with JUST refined linseed oil and although I wore gloves (and goggles to protect my glasses) they were just physical barriers because I DIDN’T NEED to protect my hands because Linseed Oil is NON-TOXIC and it SMELLS GOOD ALONE without the turpentine.

Anyone who knows me knows that beyond the sardonic Gallows Humor that I project, that I really have nothing to smile about. So I Con Fester that it surprised me but I knew immediately why I smiled.

It’s what Fran Zetta and I worked out about her own life. She was upset that she didn’t have any CONTROL in her life. None of us do. Examine the Jordanian Stickman. Oil paint (the commercial contamination) and Latex paint are toxic abominations that will make me sick. But I have wood to preserve so I had to do SOMETHING. So I studied my ass off - yes, I currently have no ass! - to find a

SIMPLE

NATURAL

SOLUTION

that is more than 500 years old.

So I smiled because it smelled good. I had NO reservations or fear of breathing it, or getting it on me and I knew it would work better than any of the previous shit. I felt like I was living OFF THE GRID. I felt like I was IN CONTROL.

I felt like that although adrift in a sea of madness that persists to this day, there was a brief moment, a tiny island where there was bliss and things FINALLY fucking worked right.

Yes, I know you can pull up a dozen videos of mindless fucks that will tell you that USED MOTOR OIL will preserve wood for fucking-ever. And it will.

Used fucking motor oil?

See? Back to the Grid. Back to loss of Control. Back to Toxins Galore (wasn’t she a Bond-Girl?)

What I’m doing takes time and effort. Dumping motor oil on your deck like a mindless redneck doesn’t.

And yes, after that moment of bliss that did follow me throughout the rest of the day, the SIM did assert itself on me to insure that I knew I was still embedded in the Video Game.

Nothing close to what Jeannettically Modified shared that shows the Game was gaming her to make it known that it was playing with her like a cat playing with a mouse in a bathtub, but the ‘and now back to our regularly scheduled disaster’ was there to mock me none-the-less.

So, my glass-windowed storm door did get caught in the 30 mph wind and blow like a epileptic having a fit making me concerned about replacing glass.

So, I did put my hand distractedly in a crumbly pile of white bird shit on the hand rail of my porch painted black to shed snow, ice, and highlight white birdshit if you were paying attention.

The weather did go from 80F and 30MPH winds with sunshine (to polymerize the linseed oil without the toxins) to overcast and still 30 MPH winds then rain.

I did have a tarp that was previously secure billow up just as a nice, smiling: Fuck You from the Game so that I needed to attend that instead of my work.

I did feel the encouragement of a day gone well to work on the mower to change the belts only to drop three belts to find that only one was on the verge of self-destructing at any moment so the other two should have been left alone because the Red Headed Step-Child Engineers who designed the machine were the Spawn Of Satan hired for the express purpose of taking this really good day to turn it into a nightmare of Hellish proportions because taking off the belts was a King of Fa disaster but GETTING THEM BACK ON WAS EVEN WORSE!

See? See how the Game draws you back in to say:
”Hey? Had a good day? Not to worry, we’ll still fuck with you.”

So I had to wear a winter coat because the leverage of my arms against sharp metal to force belts through tolerances designed to be impossible was tearing the flesh off of my body and causing me to invent new sware-words for feeling like I was in a sauna (the day started at 80F and didn’t cool off much by sunset) because I had to wear a winter coat just to re-place belts that didn’t need replacing that I didn’t know until I saw that I could read the pristine code numbers on the kevlar drive belt because I must have replaced it before but didn’t have it in my notes.

NOT IN MY NOTES! ?

Anyone who knows me, knows that’s like having a psychotic break! I’ve got notebooks piled to the ceiling. To NOT have recorded something as significant as that might have had something to do with the trauma of having replaced it the FIRST TIME!

Butt… I got it all done. Got in exhausted as I usually do on most days.

And here we are the Morning After with a good war-story about how I defeated the Trolls of MidWest and crossed the Rainbow Bridge (have to re-think that one) to Bifrost.

In Norse mythology, Bifröst, also called Bilröst and often anglicized as Bifrost, is a burning rainbow bridge that reaches between Midgard and Asgard, the realm of the gods.

Happy Swedish Meat Balls, y’all !