Following the recent onset of winter, and after relinquishing a blanket to its rightful owner, I noticed that my feet were getting and staying cold during my daily writing sessions. Previously, I would rest them on a bunched-up comforter; it did a good job of shielding my lower extremities against the uninsulated flooring panels that drag heat down into the frigid earthen cellar below.
In an attempt to mitigate my current discomfort, I threw down a single, thin sheet of cardboard, which provided little relief. Since today is recycling day, however, last night I walked repeatedly past a bin overflowing with cardboard. I took from it various sheets, cut them to size and taped them together at the ends (to keep out debris and bugs), making a block of cardboard roughly one inch thick upon which my feet now rest.
Unlike before, my feet are now far less likely to shed body heat into the linoleum tiles beneath them as I sit in an unheated room within an uninsulated house smithing lies, putting words on paper. And all it took was a pair of scissors, a few feet of tape, and a pile of rubbish.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
The coldness has hampered, my bicycle's gears, in truth things are worse than I have seen in years. To counter this error, of worn-out old grease, of wires that freeze and dérailleurs that seize, I've sampled and tinkered and finally found, the configuration that gets me around. I call it the super-sprint, because it's fast, allowing me quickly to mount every pass, allowing me also to rush across town, both neighbors and strangers think that I'm a clown. To enter the super-sprint I with care place, the rear-most dérailleur three gears up from low, then adjust the forward gears to climb or race, and scamper and hurry through ice, wind, and snow. The back gears keep skipping, far less than before, at least now I'm not being thrown to the floor, or vexed by a jumping chain while oscar mike, while braving the season of snows on my bike, while riding through blizzard and lasting darkness, feet going like crazy with sweat on my chest. If you pass a bicyclist pedaling hard, then give her some breathing room – more than a yard – then wave to her briefly or give her a nod, for she is a champion chosen by god, to prove to us others that sacrifice counts, that each of us by any means should renounce, the slavery that automobiles demand, the titles and payments that slip from our hands.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
blog updated Mon, Wed, & Fri
Among other things I am barber, bicyclist, surfer, vagabond, writer, and yogi.