Jeff Rubin interviewed by Jim Puplava at Financial Sense. Audio at the link. From the web-page:

What do subprime mortgages, Atlantic salmon dinners, SUVs and globalization have in common?

They all depend on cheap oil. And in a world of dwindling oil supplies and steadily mounting demand around the world, there is no such thing as cheap oil. Oil might be less expensive in the middle of a recession, but it will never be cheap again.

Take away cheap oil, and the global economy is getting the shock of its life...

has been raising hell lately. Tuesday, he called out Dennis Kneale from CNBC for saying the recession is over.

And today, he accused Government Sachs of manipulating the stock market.

If Denninger is right, sooner or later people are going to figure this out and the second leg of the collapse will begin.

ps.

Denninger has gone beyond bitching. Tuesday, he issued this challenge. In its entirety. Somehow I don't think Karl will care:

I've been thinking about redemption of late. As in, is there any for this despicable race of creatures we belong to?

I choose to believe so. Of course there is. There has to be. And then I look at a fossil and wonder:

Reckon there's dinosaurs in heaven?

Sabbath eve, June 26, 2009

Today marks the 16 year anniversary of my marriage to Leah. I feel fortunate to have such an intelligent and loyal woman for a partner and a soul mate. I’m also really cognizant of the fact that many others can't, for whatever reason, make such a statement.

As I write I’m listening to Charlie Robison’s brand new release, Beautiful Day. Charlie is recently divorced from Emily Robison of Dixie Chicks fame and the album is colored by his experience. Despite the sad nature of some of the songs, it’s an extremely good CD.

Sabbath eve, June 19, 2009

When I called Urlit Miller (pronounced Ewlit) to see if he needed more tomatoes for his roadside vegetable stand, he reminded me that today is Juneteenth day. Juneteenth represents the day Texas blacks received word of their emancipation, some two years after the fact elsewhere in the United States.

Urlit’s family, like most of the blacks that reside in Gonzales county, have lived in the area for quite some time. The first blacks arrived in conjunction with the first whites as slaves or servants, during or shortly after Texas’ battle with and independence from Mexico.

...can now be viewed on-line, here.

Pretty cool, if I must say so myself (I contributed two articles to the current issue).

Following is a link to an opinion piece written by Chris Hedges, referring to work done by Micahel Hudson. I respect the opinions of both men. I suspect their predictions are sound, but I don't know. Consider this food for thought. dhfjr.

The American Empire is Bankrupt

By Chris Hedges

This week marks the end of the dollar’s reign as the world’s reserve currency. It marks the start of a terrible period of economic and political decline in the United States. And it signals the last gasp of the American imperium. That’s over. It is not coming back. And what is to come will be very, very painful.

Lately my Sabbath eve offerings have been little more than hastily produced snapshots at the end of a terribly exhausting week. The hay we cut yesterday won’t be ready to bale until noon or thereabouts so this morning I am consciously neglecting my duties to write. I’m sure someone will come up needing something, but screw it. Writing can be important too. (Damn if the phone didn’t ring as I typed those words. Anyone have a spare rock I can hide under?)

A couple of things have been on my mind. One: rust never sleeps. When you stack rigs and quit producing oil wells, people lose jobs and are reluctant to return. I recently met a man that quit a job making almost $20/hour for a higher paying job in the oil field, only to have that job disappear a couple of months later when oil prices crashed.

Sabbath eve, June 12, 2009

We had another brutal week in the hay fields at Belmont. The tally for this week: 4,800 square bales of hay, cut, baled, hauled and stacked in a barn. I feel like I’ve been thoroughly beaten and irradiated. My wife noted that I have a tan on my back and shoulders acquired through thick denim shirts, a measure of the strength of the sun’s rays in these parts.

It could be worse. A trip to Seguin and New Braunfels reveals parched dried fields. I can almost hear fields weep and gasp as the suns roasts the last remaining moisture from twisted leaves and stems. There will be no grain crop this season. It’s as bad as I’ve ever seen it; any old timer you wish to talk to will tell you the same.

...are getting restless. Do not watch this if you're offended by profanity:

Alan Grayson questions Fed Inspector General.

Sabbath eve, June 5, 2009

Four thousand bales of hay that weren’t there a week ago are now stacked in a barn about a quarter of a mile from where I sit. A number of people in various households bear evidence of the battles fought to accomplish this feat. Their bodies are sore, their clothing is dirty, sweaty and torn. Their skin, whether white or brown, is scorched; hands and fingers are blistered and or calloused.

But there’s a sense of accomplishment that comes with this activity that goes beyond whether the venture proves profitable, similar to the way someone feels after running a marathon or climbing a tall mountain.

ABC is airing a two hour program at 9 pm eastern, 8 central tonight called Earth 2100: the Final Century of Civilization?

Planet at Risk: Experts Warn Population Growth, Resource Depletion, Climate Change Could Bring Catastrophe in Next Century

I recognized James Howard Kunstler and Jared Diamond in one of the preview videos.

Sabbath eve, May 29, 2009

Chuck Bowden once told me the only notebook you use is the one you have on you so I carry a small notebook and a pen in my shirt pocket. This device proved indispensable while writing a book—a thought would come and I’d jot a line or two. Later the notes would take me back to a place which otherwise would have been lost in the vapor of time.

But for the purpose of my Sabbath eve diary, the idea doesn’t work so well. Friday night comes; I look in my notebook and see worthy subjects, but the point of this exercise is to write what comes to mind at what I think is this critical moment in time, a moment when I think we become more susceptible to the whim of spirits, good and bad, and somehow at this very moment, this very hour, all of the stuff I concerned myself with during the week seems unimportant.

Sabbath eve, May 22, 2009

It's late. I had a long hard week, culminated by a really long and hard day. We've been cutting, baling and hauling hay, harvesting the last of the wheat. Today we worked the cattle at our Belmont, TX. ranch.

Fortunately Leah captured some pictures because I don't have much to say in my current conditon:

Here's how we fight The War on Drugs.

When I was powerlifting I came into contact with a number of cops in the gym. You'd be surprised how prevalent steoid use has become in their ranks.

Fighter pilots take the legal equivalent of methamphetimine when they fly. Probably a sedative to counteract the meth when they need to sleep.

The war on drugs isn't about stopping drug use. It's about whose drugs are being sold and who profits from the sale of those drugs.

Sabbath eve, May 15, 2009

Days get longer; with longer days the amount of work needing done grows. But in South Texas, longer days also means heat. Heat becomes the enemy.

We began harvesting wheat this week. The dryland wheat at our Gonzales ranch received very little rain, but being bottom land, the ground holds moisture when most doesn’t. To my knowledge ours is the only crop in the area that grew enough to be harvested. That’s a mixed blessing—some would say no blessing at all. Crop insurance pays better than harvesting a poor crop; anything a farmer harvests comes off of a potential insurance payment and it costs money to harvest grain. It also involves a measure of work.

Living in South-central Texas as I do, everywhere I go lately, I hear the same refrain. It's Obama's fault.

There was a time not so long ago when left-leaning types had a similar enemy--then it's all Bush's fault. Conservatives got noticeably quiet during those days.

Seems like lefties are now the ones getting quiet or doing their level best to disassociate themselves from Barak Obama. Not near as fun driving this ship as they anticipated.

Few are willing to see the real culprits. As long as that remains the case, there are no solutions to our ills.

I invite you to read the first two articles from Sunday's edition of The automatic earth.

Yes, Obama is to blame. And bush. And the far left, the far right, centrists, libertarians, socialists, communists, capitalists and all the rest of the ists, ats and ans out there.

Edward Abbey summed it up in this simple statement, (paraphrased): Perpetual growth is the philosophy of the cancer cell.

Sabbath eve, May 8, 2009

The heat arrived. 100 degrees, officially at San Antonio. It felt hotter. Or maybe I forgot how hot 100 degrees with high humidity feels. I tried working in the garden but conditions were almost unbearable. Felt like I was standing in a microwave oven; it’s not just the temperature that cooks a body but the sun’s rays as well. I’d hoe one row and collapse into the shade. Then another, as soon as I recovered a bit. And repeat, over and again.

Dogs and chickens watched from the shade, panting to stay cool. Matter of fact, me and a few others like me were the only creatures dumb enough to test today’s mid-day sun. Even lizards knew better.

New York Times

FARM CROP VALUES DROP $5,000,000,000; Year's Total Is $9,148,419,000, as Compared With $14,087,995,000 Last Year.BUT HARVEST SETS RECORDDespite Shrinkage in Acreage.12 Crops Are the Most Abundant in Nation's History.EARLY FORECASTS EXCEEDEDWheat Yield Is 789,878,000 Bushels,Corn 3,232,367,000 and Oats1,524,055,000.

edit: value of US crops in 2008 is $165 billion. I only missed by 90 years or so...

Sabbath eve, May 1, 2009

While there are a number of memorable scenes from Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto, two reappear in my thinking of late.

In the first scene, the protagonist’s father notices that his son is troubled by something he saw in a fleeing group of Mayan natives.

The father asks, “Those people in the forest, what did you see in them?”
The son replies, “I do not understand.”
The father:
“Fear.”
“Deep rotting fear.”
“They were infected by it.”
“Did you see?”
“Fear is a sickness.”
“It will crawl into the soul of anyone that engages it.”
“It has tainted your peace already.”
“I did not raise you to see you live with fear.”
“Strike it from your heart.”
“Do not bring it into our village.”
“At first light we will gather with the elders…
…at the sacred hill of our fathers.”
“There we will call on their spirits to guide us.”

continue reading after the jump

Fleming L Goss May 5, 1916-April 30, 2009

The town of Belmont lost Fleming Goss today. Here’s an excerpt from Ruminations from the garden concerning the man and his town:

The nearby town of Belmont, Texas is one of my favorite spots on earth. There’s not much to Belmont. A post office, a church, a pecan processing building, a couple of houses and Goss’s store.

Fleming Goss helps make the town worthwhile. Fleming is Belmont’s elder statesman. He’s ninety years old, but his mind is sharp and his attitude about life and living still good. His store sells basic needs: bread, chips, a small assortment of canned goods. Beer. A sign proclaims, no beer on credit. I don’t know if anything else can be bought on credit, but beer damn sure can’t be. Wise move on the part of Mr. Goss, I suspect.

Yesterday Leah and I went to the garden in Seguin. Manuel has helped keep it this year; evidence of his efforts abound. Tomatoes are caged or surrounded by makeshift trellises. The ground is well cultivated, weeds are at bay, the bug damage minimal. The ground is moist; water runs through hoses and into rows even on a Sunday; the water bill waiting in my mailbox attests to the amount he has applied. $675. For one friggin month. Either I get that well on-line or the cost of water will exceed the value of what we grow. Might that be part of the plan?

The beets have gone unharvested too long—the carrots as well. We only have a few rows of each so Leah and I begin harvesting. But the beets are so large that 5 or 6 fill a five gallon bucket. After ten minutes we have 30 or more gallons of beets picked and we’re only halfway through.

Sabbath eve, April 24, 2009

Sometimes I got nothing worth saying. At those times I'd rather listen to someone that does.

Allow me to share two new songs, one that of an old standby for me--that'd be Steve Earle--the song written by another old standby--that'd be Townes Van Zandt. The CD has not yet been released, but Steve is previewing Lungs on his myspace page.

The second song belongs to Dustin Welch, son of Kevin. I've seen him back up his dad but I had no idea the boy had this kind of talent.

Listen to Whiskey Priest at Dustin Welch's myspace page.

Hard core troubadors, these two.

Due to copyright law, you can't read this on-line, which is a story in and of itself with the current woes print outlets of journalism are experiencing.

So, pick up a copy of Harpers at your local bookstore and have a read. Whether you then buy the magazine will be your option.

In summary, Chuck Bowden interviews a Juarez hit man responsible for the torture and death of many people.

The man is a cop.

Trained in the United States, no less.