Call Me Sisyphus….. Or C5. Whatever.


With your aching, Greek tragedy, end of the world, Host, Category5.


It happens all too often. Each time I meet a new person, they ask that one uncomfortable question. “What to you do?”

I generally reply, “Trophy wife” which  people will chuckle at. Sometimes I will add in “Yes. I am that good”. After the chuckle, people will be at a bit of a loss for words and regret they asked the question, trying the best they can do to change the subject.

The one thing I do not want to say is that I am a professional, full time survivalist, preparing for the end of civilization and that the person I am talking to will probably die in unspeakable ways, while ignorantly making most of the planet uninhabitable by gross mismanagement.

Occasionally, I tell the honest truth which is, “I move stuff from one pile to another pile. While I am there, I take stuff from that pile, since a lot of walking back and forth is involved, and put it on a different pile. My life has devolved into being a professional pile mover”.

Most of the things I have built, generally started because I was having to move something out of the way. It just got decided that it would be easier to start the project, said item was intended for than to make a new pile.

I have a very specific and specialized skill set that MrsC5 wanted. It’s my own fault. We met by online dating. I wrote an intro that was meant to scare off all the breeder princesses with suburban aspirations. Top lines were, “Women are nothing but trouble. Other than the sex, there is no advantage to a man in being with a woman”… and…”OK. Enough about you. Lets talk about me for a while”. And this is how I snagged a woman with Dr at the front of her name. Unfortunately, I also wrote, “I will lift heavy objects for you… but only if you cant lift it yourself”.

MrsC5 is much smaller than me. Soooo…… you can probably figure out how this professional pile mover purgatory came to be.

rock and roll

Rock and Roll, baby.

I was moving a very large rock recently…. and couldn’t help but think of Sisyphus.


In sticking with the Sisyphus story, The gods have come to take my life several times… and each time, I have tricked them. Often by moving closer to Death.

In punishment for my sins, they tried a new plan… which was to give me everything I wanted… and plenty to do. Impossible tasks.

One of those things I had to do was move some very large rocks. Carved stones left behind from a previous age when people actually carved sandstone for purposes we would just pour cement for now days. Hang on. Before I could move it, first I had to break it in half because it was too large to be moved by hand. I felt bad because it was like busting  a carefully crafted antique. Even still, I figured I was only going be able to move it about 20 feet, 6 inches at a time.

Sooo… lets just jump to my first Adapters, survival skills and tools advice before we continue with the story. Survivalists have these silly ideas about what tools you should get based on their Running Away story (bugging out) with lots of exiting shooting going on. I interject….ech hem… based on my own life experience, what tools actually get used. This peeves off survivalists because I went off script and deviated from the party, story line. It seems none of my important tools actually fit in a bug out bag. This is a prime example.

Beside the rock on rollers, seen above, I placed a Breaker Bar. I figured I would show it because it suddenly dawned on me that I have been using this uncomfortably heavy tool A LOT over the last few years. My shoulders, elbows and back are not happy with this. Without it, a lot of jobs simply would not have got done though. Its for prying things and lifting things through leverage. Anything too heavy to be lifted. If you don’t have 20 to 50 thousand dollars for heavy machinery, just lying around… or the diesel or parts are suddenly unavailable….. this is how shit gets done. Its still very time and muscle ache intensive. I have been in a lot of pain since winter stopped and I started.

A breaker bar, as the name implies, is also for breaking. Like the rock I needed to break. I kept chipping away at it, lifting and driving this heavy brute of a tool, till the rock split, wheezing and panting and staring off into the distance in bodily shock at the absurdity of my life….. and just how wimpy, I and  industrialized White folk are. Why is it the people that are walking advertisements for retroactive abortion, are somehow convinced that they are the superior race. Sheesh. This is pissing off a good percentage of the planet.

Dealing with these rocks brought my mind right back to Peru. Remember this guy?

wheel barrow 4 c

Pushing these up and down the mountain…. who will grow up to be this bigger guy…

barrow 2 c

…..a people that built ridiculous things like this….

cow on edge c

…While having to live in places like this…..

view 2 c

Suddenly, this other guy doesn’t seem so impressive or manly.

burt gummer


Sooo… I have been feeling like this other character, in the story below. I’ll leave it to you to decide which character I am talking about. Maybe its a little from column A. A bit from column B. Even C5 needs an origin story

FYI, I will be writing a lot less this year. I decided if I keep up this pace, I will be dead soon. I’ve got more adventuring to do. I need to get a life… but the only way to get there… is to work even harder. I’ll explain later. Less writing. More back breaking work on ridiculous projects. If you just cant get enough of your dose of C5… and you appreciate those photos above… and you are new to this blog…. I recommend going back to my earlier writing. This blog started while I was in Peru, seeing lots of great, low energy solutions to a future with less energy, less money and worse climate conditions.

Back to Peru and breaker bars. One of my first observations, down there, was when concrete sidewalks or roads needed to be dug up to get to what was below, they weren’t bringing in a backhoe or jack hammer. That is for lazy, rich, white folk. It was short, stout guys with breaker bars, working for wages we wouldnt even get out of bed to take a dump for, in heat that would give me a stroke just standing upright. Tough, tough assed folk. They didn’t have an option so they just did.

Later, I saw guys breaking down 5 story, cement buildings the same way. All done with breaker bars. It took as long as it took. Years if necessary. Concrete chunks hauled down the stairs on peoples backs. When it was time to build again, bags of cement went up the same way.

And we buy, Stair Climber exercise machines that we put in our basements on some get fit, new years resolution but then never use and try to sell to the next sucker or just put it in the trash. The amount of exercise machines I find in my scavenging trips is just stupefying. I have got to write an article on Road Warrior salvage soon. Its been spring clean up here so I have been hauling a bunch more free stuff home lately. Thus the Sisyphus and professional pile mover stories. Clearly, there will be a part II coming to this article.

This winter kicked our ass. It just wouldn’t stop. Their wasn’t a lot of snow. Tropical fronts would sweep in from the Gulf and melt it all. Then the cold from the arctic was displaced and came down…. and kept coming…. and kept coming. The wind kept blowing the entire fucking winter, making it worse. I did not want to be out in that. Fuck you, Koch Brothers. Fuck you you fucking fucks. Fuck you and your little dogs of war too. Destabilizing the climate, a few million dollars in advertising propaganda, a few million more to buy elections, at a time.

Then the “Spring” hit. Its been months of overcast and rain. All that extra moisture put into the atmosphere had to go somewhere, as all those folks down south have been experiencing. In case you have been sleeping through that in an Oxycontin stupor, here’s the news-

Flooding and fields too wet to plant in means food cant be grown. It begins. I just have to count my blessings that I live on a hill. Do you remember all those places I told people where not to live? Number one- “Not on a flood plain”. Number two- “Not by a river”. Number three- “Not down stream of a dam or toxic industry”. ETC. Funny how much food prices have gone up lately. Once again, it begins. Of course, Alberta is already burning uncontrollably…. again. Its all dried up down there, like a cowgirl, post menopause. Oh, the irony. As dry as their conventional oil wells. Tar sands for lube doesn’t sound appealing to stick my dick into.

All NEW Asstroglide… Now with 100 percent more sand. I think I will just spit on it. I prefer water. If you have got to put your mouth on it, water trumps oil.

And the anthropomorphic climate change denial, wealthy, libertarian Alberta, has gone full communist, demanding the Guberment give them free stuff like pickup truck bailouts… and full authoritarian control of British Columbia…who had told them…NO!

“I heard somebody say, Burn Baby Burn”

I have only been writing this because of- A- The weather is crappy, and B- My bod has been taking several days or weeks to heal after each of these challenging jobs. The eternal youth thing I had been pulling off came to an abrupt end this year. Its like I aged 10 years over this winter.

Lets go back to that bolder.rock and roll

The first rock had to be moved to get it out of the way… but it was meant to be gotten under the old schoolbus as a solid base so I can jack it up with a couple of two ton bottle jacks to level it (Which I recently recycled from the metal scrap yard for a whopping  15$. metal cost. Another real life force multiplier that wont fit in a bug out bag). I figured I was only going to be able to move this rock  20 ft that day. Then the per-historic, rubbing two sticks, lightbulb went on over my head. I was going to Stonehenge this fucker. I was sent scrambling to the wood pile for the roundest logs. I rolled it fully into place in less than an hour. I stood there, ecstatic with my arms in the air and yelled, “I am fucking awesome. I am the GOD of survivalists…”. Then the wheels in my brain did an abrupt stop. That little voice in my head went, “What is one of the main things all your years of spirituality, theology and the abandonment of such, has taught you? The Gods are petty… not to be trusted… and they have a sense of humor. Back pedal, you dumb ass.”

Which gets us back to Sisyphus.

This winter broke us. We were feeling trapped. Too many thing we had tried just didn’t work out. Life is ticking away. We were feeling so unhappy that we were even considering selling the place. At both of our cores, we are both adventurers and explorers. That is how the two of us find ourselves here, taking on this challenge. The problem was, I have seen enough of the world to know that there is nowhere to go that would make us happy. Visit, yes. Move there, no. The earth is full. People are awful. This is as good as it gets. MrsC5 announced, “I’m not doing the garden this year. I’ll tend the perennials this year. Thats all”. I replied, “Ya. I’m not doing the next shipping container build. I just don”t have it in me”.

I can see now that the gods were fucking with me. Spring came, sort of, and the projects began. Things that needed to be moved out of the way… which led to building… which led to me moving a rock, which led to the gods hearing me proclaim that I am the god of survivalists.

The next day, while I was staying in bed cause the old bod just hurt too much, MrsC5 says she was just contacted by her shipping contained guy who found her a high top container for 3000$ canadian, all in. Basically for metal cost. And we were getting it.

My gods, I have (Common Law) married Captain Ahab. And I now have been told I have another white whale to harpoon. Didn’t I just say I don’t have it in me for that build. I can hear the gods laughing.

Well call me Ishmael…

Or Sisyphus… or C5. Whatever.

An escape plan for next winter is coming together. Its looking like we will be in El Salvador. Lets not jinx it though. I’m sure a Survival Advice From Central America series will follow.

Part of the plan is to get that shipping container cabin built so we can get a full time person living on the property for incredibly low rent. Part of the deal is that they move into our house and tend the animals when we are away, at which point they pay no rent. For someone that wants to live like C5 and be part of the crew, but knows they will never be able to afford it. It’s part of a larger plan coming together.

But first, I have to pull a Sisyphus, to pay for my sins, and to push even harder, without an emotional reserve… and fear of  death from whatever health issue was taking me down in the early spring. This is for all the marbles.

I had other projects I had started on other Adapter experiments to show. Biannual seed plant success. Building with scrap. Salvage. We will save those for Part II. No Rest for the wicked.

That was all interrupted buy having to move even more of those boulders… for a base for the container.


Why would anyone want to live in a no or low amenities shipping container home? Because this would be the sunset view and I already salvaged a huge  view window to go into it.

rock 2

Here is my point of the day. While Merikans are freaking out about brown people crossing the border, and hey, I do sympathies with that no region wants to be overpopulated beyond its carrying capacity, It does strike me that anyone that walks across an entire country or three, walking across a desert, to get away from violence and drug cartels, from countries where people would break apart concrete buildings with a breaker bar…. are the EXACT people you should want to immigrate to your country. Hard working folk that could actually Make Merika Grate Ag’in.

Meanwhile in Merika, the actual snowflakes, in confederate flag T-shits covering their bellies, that wheeze getting in and out of their air conditioned mondo truck to get to the wall-mart, while claiming to be the master race….

…At the first sign of the consequence from declining Energy Return On Energy Investment (peak conventional oil-2005- and the banking collapse that followed- 2008) they voted in This Guy to the oval office.

He has played the pin head puppets of Gotham like a harp from hell. Hey farmers, are you feeling great yet. Mind the tornadoes and flooding. Kiss your farms goodby. Do you feel a DRAFT.

In the future, try to remember, if he walks like a super villain, talks like a super villain, acts like a super villain and looks like a supervillain… expect super villainy.


Thar she blows. White whale dead ahead.

white whale 1

The story of this near disaster is for another time. It almost flipped off while rolling off. All my careful planning, rock placement, needed adjustment on the fly. I grabbed my harpoon… otherwise known as a breaker bar. You can just hear the rolling laughter of the gods, responding to what I had already written above. My life is a walking, talking, cosmic lesson plan. I am not fond of being a morality tale.

white whale 2

white whale 3

Either way, it was placed down so badly…. that it was a very good thing that I recycled those couple of 2 ton bottle jacks, from the metal yard. I’ll have to re lift this whale to re-adjust all the stones, all by my lonesome. Oh Joy. More days of work and challenging death. Hopefully it doesn’t flip and crush me.

Blessed be the Adapters. They shall inherit a fundamentally changed, charred and challenging Earth.

Thus ends the chapter from the Book of  Sisyphus. Amen


Bonus Reads. If you want to know what REAL collapse ACTUALLY looks like- Food Doesn’t Grow here Anymore    –


more –

And here is your bonus listen. Snowden chatting with Nova Scotians-

Lets end this with a DJ-C5 Disco Double Tap remix… to get your hips rocking and stretch out those mid apocalypse, post dystopian, breaker bar using muscles.

This is Category5, transmitting from the Dark Green Mountain, from Koch Brothers/ US Occupied Canada.

If you are receiving this broadcast, YOU are The Rebel Alliance.


This is where I usually pass the hat for writing services rendered but stick around.

As I said I would, I emptied out most of the the tip jar and put it toward recycled metal from the scrap yard. I figured this was a good mid apocalypse investment for post apocalyptic returns.

Here is the proof. A couple loads like this, heavy on the roof metal

metal load

See what I build with it next episode. I wont be writing very often this year. We will see how it goes and motivation allows. The Tip jar at the top of the page where it says Giving Just The Tip…. may encourage motivation… or not. At least I am honest. I’m only going to write if I have a good article in me. Not to meet a deadline or to keep people coming back. You already know the quality of the product and what to expect

(Thanks, SR, GD, GG and DG for the donations)

As we continue our Road Warrior, side of the road recycling, living off the corpse of the old world… this was the unique find of the year. We went back for it, realizing its usefulness


By the end of the year, I may  be using it as my personal walker. A least I will have a place to sit down when my hips and knees and back tell me I can walk no further. Dare I say it…. when I get pooped… and need to pull a new plan out of my ass.

(Edit after writing. The sun finally came out. Finally. Life begins. I am in awe. It’s so beautiful. Oh ya. Thats why I live here. I guess absence really does make the heart grow fonder)