Daily Archives: 2012/04/16

Low income? Make your own Black Gold Cheap!

Posted 20 January 2010 – 09:28 AM

Make your own Black Gold Cheap!
The Good Reverend Says, my worm whispering has yielded Black Gold…. How you can too

Last night, the good Reverand Brandon Baker over at Greenfaith Ministry came to give me some compassion herb. I was so grateful that I began searching my mind for a gift I could bless him with. We talked of the grow contest here at GP and got to discussing my worm whispering technique. I decided to give him some of my worms, of which I’m so proud. And some of the soil they’ve produced as a thanks for me keeping them alive. They would have ended up on a hook, or died in a fridge, but I brought them home and put them in a bucket of crummy dirt instead. Black gold’s what I got says the rev with a smile, all it really needs is some pearlite, best he’s seen in a while.
You can do it to, its cheap and its fun. Follow the instructions, it’ll be worth it when your done.Materials and cost estimates (compare to repeatedly purchasing wormdirt and other items necessary to make “black gold”)
1. 5 gallon icing bucket free from walmart bakery (most foodstuff locations have something that comes in buckets of this size and will do the same) just ask
1 Small bag of  organic soil (cheap by comparison to the outputs equivalent price)
2. 1 container night crawlers from any location carrying bait (I paid $3.00)
****Note make sure you look at your worms before purchase! They will likely be sluggish, as they are cold blooded and are kept in cold storage to slow their metabolisms, but they should be moving. They shouldn’t be too pale but a rich brown red color. If they look just a little weak, but are active, take those poor things home. If they look too far gone, leave them to be put on a hook and possibly provide someone with food.*******

3. A small amount of organic vegetable matter every few weeks…
Use what you’d usually compost or throw away. Bread crust too hard? worms love grains, just crumble it in. Blissful and can’t find your ashtray at the moment, if you don’t ash soon, your j’s about to make a mess? the ashes are great for the soil! Soil too wet and you just peeled an orange? Dry those pieces out over night and add to the soil, or add some pasta! Look at your soil’s issues, then find an organic, natural source of that nutrient and feed it to your worms. They will do the rest! It is that easy. However, do not overfeed your worms you will end up with a compost smell with my method. If you are already composting in a method where the worms will be able to survive (not cut to bit by mechanical blades), just toss them in there. The key is balance and variety with the feeding. something you will get the hang of if you just watch the behavior of your worms. They will go after what the soil is lacking first.

4. Perlite
My worms have worked this dirt since about November 1 (as I post it is January 20, so nearly 3 months) Worms get fed at least every 2 weeks, and the earth gets stirred gently about 1/2 way down the bucket weekly. Careful not to hurt your worms, but if you do. These babies are amazing. Both halves have the potential to live. They have 10 hearts too! The microscopic good bacteria from their gut will further break down nutrients into smaller pieces for micro root hairs. Also worms are both hermaphrodite and asexual so just 4 worms can have a genetic hookup menu of

worm given numbers 1-4
1:2
1:3
1:4
2:3
2:4
3:4

With a relatively small number of parents you can have the genetic diversity necessary for a healthy population through generations. Also the worms can store some of the sex cells of their partner(s) after coitus for a long period, and use them to reproduce if left in an area with no worms. However I advocate they be given to your friends in breeding pairs or sets of pairs. They will be stronger with more genetic diversity they will survive and live through many generations, but higher possibility for genetic defects if only one worm is the parent… (inbreeding down the generations same as any other animal you might raise for fun and profit understand?)

I can find refrences on all of this information on worm life cycles for all those scholarly minded. Being in bed for a decade and a writer, I just laid there and devoured knowledge. I have an uncanny ability to retain “useless” information and re-purpose it. Got a problem needs solvin, at least ask, If I dunno the answer, I may know where to find it. Consider me the GP recluse librarian. LOL enjoy and redistribute with attribution (I’m a starving writer remember copyright Breezy Kiefair 2010)

Resurrection from:

The LIterary LIneage of Breezy Kiefair

Preface:
My lineage is made up of many things, most of all experience, the experience of the ugly side of humanity. I was born to parents who cared little for me. They handed me off to one seemingly well meaning relative to the next, until there were none left to take me. None were left in my own bloodline who had any use for me. So I was passed on to friends of the family, and then to friends of friends of the family, until I landed in foster care, the worst fate of all. In my experienced opinion, the worst fate that can befall a child is to be raised solely by society. I learned to read when I was 3 years old, no thanks to my parents, only to my brothers and sister. I followed them around, with book in hand, begging them to read to me. It was the same book each time, a Chip ‘n Dale and Donald Duck Little Golden book with the cover torn off. I knew the letters on the pages had meaning. I could recognize the letters when written, and I knew that once they were strung together they made words. But I just couldn’t make out what those words were. I reasoned that if I could hear the those words enough times, I could unlock their code, and I did.

The Literary Linage of Breezy Kiefair
One magical day, after hearing a book a million times,
and knew the words of it by heart as I knew my ABC’s
the letters suddenly transformed before me,
and somehow, magically I could read!
From that moment on, I began to devour books to escape
from my childhood which was unfolding grimly before me.

I was subject to all kinds of abuse

Physical abuse (I was beaten to within an inch of my life more times than I care to count!)
Pedophilia, manipulation, penetration, endless mind fucks – (that hurt more than fists)

My emotions
were toyed with
and twisted with tautological terror,
until I had been taken down a peg one too many times and all that was left was a trifle!
I was a child given over to society to raise,
yet the only civility I found was in books – books I devoured with an insatiable appetite.
Learning my ABC’s served me well.
The author mattered not, whether it was fiction or nonfiction was irrelevant,
all that mattered was having a book before my face

so I didn’t have to deal with the ugliness of man.

I read of Archaeology and Alice in Wonderland
of Bibles and Biology, of castles and clichés,
of dictionaries and dinosaurs, of epochs and ecology,
of fiction and fact, of Greek Gods and Gatsby,
of hobbits and Howl, of idiocy and intelligence,
of journalism and jurisprudence, of knowledge and knights, of Kafka and Kerouac,
of love (which I dreamed about experiencing, but didn’t really understand)
of mysteries and molecules,
of narcotics (I got a very different education as an adult known as being street-wise)
and National Geographic
I read of oblivion and observance, oppression and orators, orchestras and overtures, of outer space, owls and the orient!
I read of pagans and pageants,
painters (and the whole field of visual arts, with which I began to experiment)
and paleontology, palindromes and pantomimes,
papacy and paperbacks, parables and parchment,
Paris and particle accelerators, passion and pacifism,
patents and plagiarism, patriotism and patronization
peace and the parvenu people
the power of pens, pencils, petitions and philosophy,
of pixies and plagues, planets and the profound,
pleasure and plots, plumage and posterity,
poetry and prose (I began to experiment with these almost immediately)
politics and pollution,
posthumous publishing, prayer and pride
primates, princes and princesses, pirates and probability,
persecution and protest, pseudonyms and the psychedelic,
psychiatry (foster care gave me an intimate enough knowledge of this) and pogroms,
and of publication (which I became mildly obsessed with attaining)
I read of queens and questions (all varieties…
the quaint, and the quixotic, the quality and the quarrelsome, all the quiet queries of man)
I read of races and racism, of radar and the radical,
realism and reverence, redemption and redundancy,
relativity and remorse, resilience and responsibility.
Revolutionary as well as routine ideas entered me through books.
Slowly I began to realize the sadism of the name
so salaciously supplied by those who sired me,
and words that symbolized “Me” began to seem sardonic in sound,
so I simply sacrificed it, and my new signification saved my sanity.
Outside the tales, my talents and tested “genius” withering in the wind.
All I am was continuously trampled on an left in tatters,
teaching me the inescapable cruelty of time.
Until I grew to be a teenager full of temerity teetering tumultuously.
My tenacity (and my nose in any book available) the only things
tenderly holding me back from terminating my own terrible tale
in tall tenement housing and government dorms.
Ubiquitous ugliness, ulterior ultimatums, umbrage un-abbreviated,
and umpteen unchangeable underhanded unjustifiable uproots,
let me know I was undesirable, un-lovable and would remain forever unknown,
despite my dreams
I was valedictorian – very nearly
(my GPA was the highest,
but the powers that be chose
to give the honor
to those among them
who had attended the school the full 4 years)
I valiantly struggled for my honor, but all in vain
so after graduation I voyaged.
wanderlust then took my feet, and I was on my way
wanting to wade into all that wonder I had found within the worlds
not wanting to wallow in the waste that my life had been thus far,
wanting so desperately to prove myself worthy of any literary lineage.
Much later, with Xanadu unattained,
I settled into xerothermic xyloid adulthood and obscurity.
YY chromosome grew within me,
yet as a young yearling he perished,
ever yoking sorrow wit me
a year later I fell ill, my youth gone,
illness making me old before my time,
yet I carry on, for a reason known to Yahweh.

I am no Zealot
(though I continue writing zealously)
My writing is the zeitgeist of my own soul.
My zenith my come if ever I am included in part of
someone elses literary lineage.
perhaps then I will finally be worthy of having a literary lineage.
written by Breezy Kiefair at Naropa
November 10, 2007

poem post resurrected from: https://www.greenpassion.org/index.php?/topic/19229-poem-the-literary-linage-of-breezy-kiefair/

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