The Cosmological Principle Has Moved!

You can now follow the philosophical wanderings and the experience of nature through the eyes of the CosmoPrince at http://cosmoprince.wordpress.com/ where I've found new inspiration and more flexibility on the new server. Can't wait to see you there.

Pemmican

I tried my hand at making pemmican the other day and documented the process. I found a couple of sources to guide my inspiration and piecemealed a recipe together. I must say that the outcome was less than desirable, but the stuff seems to be holding together quite well. It's a bit greasy and looks and tastes a lot like canned dog food, but I let it sit out on my counter for a few days and it doesn't seem to be spoiling.

If done correctly it should last forever. And when I say forever, I mean FOREVER. Some archeologists supposedly found some of this stuff in an ancient pueblo jar in an excavation site. It was full of pemmican and it was apparently still good.

The idea is to separate the meat from the fat, turn the meat into jerky and the fat into tallow, and then recombine the two. The result is a concoction of dried jerky perpetually sealed by melted fat. No air or water can get in to spoil the meat. This stuff has a high protein and high fat content to maintain fat and muscle mass through the winter. Of course you can eat it any time of the year for the same purpose, but the idea is that food is typically scarce in the colder months and is used to augment your rationed food supplies throughout the season.

So with that, lets delve into the process that I used. You can double, triple or quadruple the recipe to make more, and you probably should if you're going to make a season's supply. I made only a small amount as an experiment. Here's my recipe:

PEMMICAN

yields 12 oz.

1 lb. fat

1 lb. lean meat

4 c water

Separate any remaining fat from the meat and meat from the fat. Slice and dice the fat and meat as thin as your patience will allow. The smaller/thinner the pieces the faster the process will go. If you're using a dehydrator or meat rack, slice it into thin strips instead of dicing so you can hang it and keep it together.

Rendering the Fat

Combine the fat and water into a container (either a pot or stomach pouch on a tripod in a survival situation) and boil over low heat (about 250°F) until fat has melted and the water evaporated (this took

about nine hours for me, but I could have sliced mine a lot thinner; and it works much faster in the oven than it does on stovetop). Careful not to cook the fat or you render it useless.

Remove from heat and let cool. The tallow will separate from the other liquids on the top. You can either scoop the liquid tallow from the top with a spoon or refrigerate and pry the solid tallow from the top and melt again in the pan as I did in the photo below (left). When liquid it makes a fine golden substance (right).

Drying the Meat

Use an oven (as low as it will go; mine set at 170°F) or a dehydrator (or a small fire under a meat rack in a survival situation). Put paper towels under the meat in the oven to absorb the grease. Let dry for several hours until the meat looks like jerky. Let cool, and shred in a food processor or grind between a mortar and pestle until the meat is a fine powdery substance.

Recombination

Once the tallow and shredded jerky are made, recombine the two into a pan/bowl, mix thoroughly, and let cool. It should yield less than half of the original materials in weight. What was lost in both ingredients was water and should now keep indefinitely. Store in a cool, dry, dark place.

I think you can also add dried fruit and seeds into the mix to add some flavor.

I've also heard that you can soak rags in the melted tallow, wrap them around a sturdy stick, and let them dry to make torches.

RESOURCES

Pemmican Recipe. Tamarack Song. 7 September 2009 [http://www.natureskills.com/pemmican_recipe.html].

The Pemmican Brief. Rix White. February 2007. WildeRix. 7 September 2009 [http://wilderix.wordpress.com/2007/02/28/the_pemmican_brief/].

How to Render Duck Fat. Katy. 20 March 2008. Sugarlaws. 8 September 2009 [http://www.sugarlaws.com/how-to-render-duck-fat].

Adore the Adorners

My latest project was inspired by a poem by Robert Pinsky. I found it in an old textbook of mine and I read it about half a dozen times through. I was captivated as it reminded me of all the work that goes into the things we take for granted. The next day I decided to make my own shirt. If you’re more traditional or like my grandmother, you might raise an eyebrow and say, “but guys don’t sew.” And I might say something like, “you’re wrong,” or “you’re sexist.” So why would I go to such lengths and troubles?

I made it out of respect for Koreans, Chinese, and Malaysians and all others who work in sweatshops for pocket change. I made it to understand the labor of the underappreciated. I made it to honor the intricacies and complexities of the fabric and weave. And it was no easy task.

Mine is a long sleeve muslin shirt with a collar, a yoke, and four-inch slits up the sides. I like the shirt because it looks kinda swashbucklery, but not too costumy, so I can still wear it anywhere. The whole project probably took around ten hours, being my first time to actually sew anything substantial. Sewing the collar and yoke into the shirt itself was an extremely difficult task, but I learned something about the craftwork of sewing, and more importantly, I think, about how many hands that a store-bought garment passes through. The clothes you’re wearing probably passed through a great number of hands before it arrived in yours. And they weren’t just any hands. They were human hands—hands of people worthy of dignity and praise that is deserved by every human being simply because they are human.

According to DoSomething.org, there are sweatshops for nearly every manufacturing industry from electronics to auto parts to shoes and toys, and some of them are right here in the United States. Consider these brands for a more humane means of clothing yourself. They’re generally a bit more expensive than sweatshopped clothes, so another alternative is to learn to make your own. Try this place for patterns.

Who's the Host with the Most?

I gave blood yesterday at the local blood sucker's union headed by the regional vampires. I've been in countless times to host my own whole blood. But this time a disillusioned spawn asked me if I would be interested in giving only red blood cells, which is much more efficient (And that was the only part they wanted anyway. Apparently vampires have little to do with white blood cells, platelets and plasma). So naturally entranced, I said, "Of course, anything to help the head vampire," or something like that.

So they rigged me up to this machine full of ticking dials and clicking cogs. The spawn gave me the needle which had not simply one, but three tubes coming off it. The machine started to beep and whir. And then it started to shake and rumble. This was not slight vibration mind you, but had I set a drink upon its surface it would be thrust on the floor by its gyrations. It was like a wild washing machine wobbling across the floor. I asked the lady if everything was alright. "Oh yes," she said, "it's supposed to do that."

I tried to calm myself. I saw a line of blood run along one of the tubes—the first draw. Soon a second line was drawn down the tubular triad. I followed it into the machine. I squeezed the pack of gauze that she had prepared for me (the FDA had disapproved that donors use the stress balls that were traditionally used in assisting of the blood pumping into the arm; they worried about swine flu and cross contamination). The machine, just beside and behind my bed, was looking over my shoulder, as if to judge how quickly and willingly I gave up my blood. It beeped in protest.

Then it stopped beeping and jumping. I looked over to a clear chamber in the machine that housed my blood. It was a lighter shade than the dark, thick fluid that came out of me. It was like cherry juice. Then my arm went cold and the cherry fluid, now cleansed of red blood cells, began pumping back into my arm along with a saline solution. I was unaware at the time of how this would be problematic upon returning home.

O how I wish I could say that this was the end of the ordeal, but the cycle continued for the better part of an hour, drawing and pumping, rumbling and criticizing, clicking and beeping, and I drained of my life force with my arm pulsating and throbbing.

When I got home I meekly crept into bed and slept for two hours. My intestines gurgled the saline solution and expelled the excess water from my body. I felt like Lucy in Bram Stoker's Dracula. I was in some dreamy stupor, and dying. I must recuperate. I only have two months until my next scheduled appointment with the dark ones.

Let it go

For some reason I can't shake the feeling that my life is cluttered right now. As I sit here typing this post, there sits upon my desk: a camera, my journal, dictionary, a book of poetry, a stack of ledgers, letters, and papers, a book on freelance writing, a book on law for writers and artists, the September issue of Texas Monthly magazine, the instruction manual for my camera, a stack of papers that need revising/editing, two bags of trail mix, and one rumbling and purring cat. Oh, and as he stirs, I find a calculator and a number of pens hidden beneath his expanse.

And what do I do with all this mess? So far I've let it build. Any attempts to cull the hoard has proven itself short lived. But after observing this practice for the majority of my short life, I've come to realize how much better I feel when it's gone. There is a lightness, a freedom. It's like cleaning out the closet during the spring rains. The cleansing makes a space and the spaces are light, and lightness is happy, unlike the burdensome weight carried by the need to store and collect.

I've always wanted to know what it feels like to have a clean closet. I mean an impeccably clean, spotless, near empty closet, wherein only a few shirts hang and a box or two sit upon the shelves. It sounds liberating, even exhilarating. And why wait? Why continue to torment myself by hanging on to all the excess baggage? That's what it's all about really. Physical baggage is spiritual baggage. There is no difference between the two. One manifests itself as the other, and once we decide to drop some weight we are instantly happier, so why do we insist on hanging on to it in the first place?

Involvement

Let’s consider what it means to be involved in this world. I mean that in a very literal and existential way. First, break down the word “involve.” The suffix in- is pretty simple. It means “in.” Okay, and “volve” comes from the Latin roots volvere, meaning “to turn.” So “involve” means something like “to turn in.” That sounds like you might turn in, as if going to bed. Or rather you might be looking inward, inside yourself, seeking insight. But what about in the idea that we mentioned first, as being involved in the world?

Let’s get metaphysical. Martin Heidegger, a German existential philosopher, made this same point in his book Being and Time. If you’re fluent in German, I suggest you read it in its native tongue because the English version is hard enough. The idea here is that being involved in the world consists of a kind of turning. It’s turning. You’re turning. You’re interacting. It’s interacting. And as it turns and you turn, you begin to realize that the involvement between you and the world cannot be done separately from one another. The two are inherently intertwined. We are all part of the weave, cut from the same fabric, if you will. And the world is this weave.

And in this intimate revolution between you and the world, you will find that because the world is so involved (and remember our definition of involve—the turning in) with you, it is as much within you as it appears to be outside of you. Let that one gel for a while.

The Zen of Zin

It’s definitely been longer than I intended since I posted last. I’ve been researching cameras. I’d like to provide you with pictures taken first hand by yours truly. Furthermore, I’ve been setting up the professional stage for marketing myself as a writer/journalist—business cards, self-addressed stamped envelopes (SASE for those of you in the biz), and even a shiny new resumé.

But this is all boring stuff of the “behind the scenes.” You’re probably wondering, “where’s the outsider’s view?” Well here it is. It’s something that I’ve been considering for a while. It’s a similie actually. It consists of two things that I hold dear. The first is the momentous thing we call “Life,” and the other is the fabulous thing that I’ve learned so much about and so much from. There isn’t much to it on the surface, but as you get into it, there’s a whole realm of intricasies, complexities, and delicacies involved. I am of course, referring to wine. And the lesson is this: everything you needed to know about life you can learn from wine.

Living is about action. Not passivity. Many drink their wine like they live their lives. So hopefully they’re good drinkers—sensitive, cognizant, and moderate. Those who take their life by the mouthful can’t handle the intoxication. They binge and are sickened, running about in a disillusioned state and have to deal with the hangovers later. I’m not saying life shouldn’t be wild or even crazy at times; I’m saying that you’ll be sorry if you’re not careful to pay close attention to the details, to hang on to them while you can, and let them go when they pass.

My motto these days is to live earnestly fervent... or fervently earnest. I haven’t decided yet. And I learned that from wine. When I drink it, I am partaking in an activity, and I stress the term ACTION because this tasting should not be taken passively. Not by any means. You have to grab the sensations while you can (but not forever; probably more on that in a later post). I don’t sip without knowing the character intimately. Sometimes it’s easy to forget to taste, and to smell, and to look and feel the body and sense the finish (When you’re in it, it’s a lot like good sex. That’s another metaphor, maybe in another post). So try. Try to stay with it. The difference is the same as between hearing and listening. Listening requires attention, awareness.

The finish is an especially interesting thing. You’re not really tasting the presence of anything, but rather the lack, or the loss of a presence. It’s like a spirit that lingers after the body dies. You’re tasting the Nothing of wine. Kind of Zen, right? Try it with the latest zinfindel I tasted, the Zen of Zin, a California wine. You’ll be tasting the Nothing of Zen. Trippy, huh? I’ll leave you to figure that one out.