#coal dust

[gobeyondmcmod]

GoBeyond - Black Goo

Black goo is a material made by crafting coal dust and sap, which can be used as an alternative for coal, burning just as long (8 items). 

Coal dust is made by crafting coal or charcoal with a mortar and pestle, and its crafting produces 9 of it, making any coal stash long for longer than it would otherwise.

As of now, neither coal dust nor black goo have a use in crafting new blocks, but that will change soon ;D

Coal dust

Crafting coal dust

Crafting black goo

Black goo as fuel

[harmcityherald]

Curtis Bay residents denounce proposed Maryland regulations for CSX coal terminal

[testormblog]

At the Railway’s Mercy

Nearly everybody including me, who lived beyond Brisbane’s boundaries, relied on trains for transportation.  Trams didn’t run outside the city’s perimeter.  Whilst motor vehicles had increased in number since the fifties, regional roads were still built for horse and cart traffic.  This reliance made the Railway a powerful organisation.  Such monopoly, its’ executives believed would continue forever.

The Railway treated its employees, passengers and freight customers alike with condescension.  It transported almost everything everywhere on its own timetable: the living, their animals, the dead and anything these needed for their existence and business.  It brought mail from all corners of the state to the General Post Office in Brisbane for sorting and onward travel.  People accepted their deliveries would arrive whenever and in whatever condition these eventually did, having passed through multiple pairs of hands.

The Railway’s lines crisscrossed the length and breadth of the state.  Even tinpot communities of a few hundred people had stations manned with staff and permanent track maintenance crews.  The Railway’s costs to operate as well as to maintain its infrastructure and to build more greatly exceeded the normal person’s comprehension.  Notwithstanding its volume of traffic, it didn’t earn a profit with the deficit of thousands of pounds footed by the taxpayers.  They didn’t complain.  Accordingly, the Railway saw no reason why it should change its antiquated, inefficient practices.

Every week day, I joined the thousands of its passengers.  Those days that I began my journey at Bethania Station, I waited for a suburban rattler pulled by a PB15 steam engine to arrive at 6.25 am.  Usually, the train came on time as it should have given that the station was its first stop.  I stepped up from the low platform on to a carriage’s running board and grabbed the metal handles to climb into one of the train’s six second class carriages.

Inside, I looked for the least dirty seat and brushed the coal dust from it.  Some people sat on the advertisement section of their newspapers.  I wasn’t sure which was worse on one’s backside, a coal smudge or an advertisement for unmentionables.  A few men smoked cigarettes and pipes even though the carriage may have been designated as nonsmoking.  Smoke was both outside and inside; there wasn’t any difference.  At least the nicotine smell cloaked the unwashed smell of some passengers.  The ticket snapper soon came along with the hope I was a fare evader.  This was not so and never so!  The guard leant out from the rear carriage and waited for the station master’s hand signal.  Upon receiving this, he waved his green flag and blew his whistle.  The engine driver released the mighty steam engine’s brakes and engaged its drive wheels.  The train lurched forward and began its slow thirty-two kilometre journey to South Brisbane Station.

As a child, I loved train rides to Brisbane.  As a young man, the opposite applied.  The route rarely varied so the daily scenes outside the carriage window didn’t either.  After thousands of journeys, I barely glanced at them anymore.  The constant clicky clack of the train’s steel wheels numbed my mind into a state of lethargy.  I usually battled to stay awake as one never knew what crooked characters were passengers too.  Everybody generally was suspicious of everybody else unless they knew them.  Consequently, I didn’t engage in conversations with strangers.  Whilst some people hid behind their newspapers, I didn’t take out a text book from my bag.  The train’s constant noise and movement as well as passenger interruptions made concentration difficult.

The journey was like a trip through history.  The train chugged through open country, over the Logan River and across the biggest bridge between Brisbane and Bethania.  Supposedly, steam engines faster than the PB15 were too heavy to cross the aging timber bridge.  The train stopped for a passenger at Loganlea sometimes.  This small farming hamlet existed as it did last century.  Onwards, the train steamed into the current century to Kingston, the area’s commercial hub where a prosperous butter factory operated and a once illustrious gold mine had existed.  Despite the fixed gold price, the mine hadn’t turned a profit.  Rumours lingered from its heyday that the miners themselves had pocketed the gold and become rich.  Alas, they left behind an environmental debacle for the politicians to resolve.  Next, at Woodridge, the train filled up with workers.  The place was posh in name only.  The government had encouraged migrants to settle there; yet had failed to plan a town or services for them.  This failure would condemn it and its residents to future impoverishment.

I absentmindedly watched more stations flit by.  At Runcorn, the foundations of the wartime military warehouses were still visible.  Later, the Bradford Kendall heavy machinery foundry would be built on them.  During World War Two, the surrounding suburbs had been the military’s manufacturing hub for equipment and armaments.  Onwards, the train chugged to Rocklea which perennial floods attempted to wash away.  It then picked up speed and ran express to South Brisbane.  At Moorooka, I glanced at the interstate goods yards, colloquially called Clapham Junction, where a long line of retired Bayer Garrett steam engines had been parked on a track indefinitely.  During the war, troops had erected a tent city close to here.  As the train passed Park Road Station, Boggo Road Gaol loomed above with its gloomy Victorian architecture, home to the perpetrators of heinous crimes.  At least, they saw the sunlight whilst working in the gardens.

The steam train thundered through the only tunnel on the route.  Anyone who forgot to raise the rattly glass windows beforehand ended up covered in soot and coal dust.  After nineteen stations, the train screeched to a halt at South Brisbane Station and disgorged hundreds of passengers.  A mass of bodies charged down the stairs to the street.  People boarded trams to the City or walked instead past the fish board, along the polluted Brisbane River and its docks then across Victoria Bridge.  The smell was nauseating.

Unfortunately, the whole return journey awaited me if I wasn’t at college that night.  I couldn’t believe that people endured this monotony for the duration of their working lives.  I wasn’t yet eighteen and had already decided I didn’t like adult life or the big city very much.  I also yearned for some respite from the Railway’s and its schedule’s control over my daily existence.  My childhood romance with it was waning.

[hldky]

In ever decreasing circles? by National Library of Ireland on The Commons Via Flickr: Mixing Culm? I've managed to mix up my Colms and my Colmcilles from time to time but I must admit that I have never heard of mixing CULM before. This appears to be a well set up and practiced process where the horses hooves and strength are used to crush something. What is it and where was it done? Photographer: Irish Tourism Association Photographer Collection: Irish Tourism Association Photographic Collection Date: 1942 - 1944 NLI Ref: NPA ITA 1254 (Box VI) You can also view this image, and many thousands of others, on the NLI’s catalogue at catalogue.nli.ie

[dangerdust2]

Caplan Syndrome

Caplan syndrome was first described in 1953 by Dr. Anthony Caplan, a provider on the Cardiff pneumoconiosis panel, as radiologic evidence of intrapulmonary nodules in coal miners with a diagnosis of rheumatoid arthritis (RA).It is also called rheumatoid pneumoconiosis.

Caplan syndrome is caused by work exposure to coal, asbestos, or silica which causes pneumoconiosis, an inflammatory reactive lung condition to dust particles, in patients with a rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis. 

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“MINE SHAFT BLAST OUSTS 84 WORKERS,” Toronto Star. April 30, 1942. Page 2. --- Explosions in Same Pit Have Killed 95 Men ---- Halifax, April 30 (CP) - Hon. L. D. Currie, minister of mines, said 84 miners, all uninjured, were evacuated early today from the Nova Scotia Coal company's Allan shaft at Stellarton, N.S. A small explosion occurred in the workings. The shaft will be closed for 24 hours to enable an investigation and to determine whether any damage was caused to the workings, the minister said.

At Stellarton, Mine Manager Badoux said: "The men said they did. not hear the explosion, but there was a disturbance of the air and some dust."

During the last war 88 men were killed by an explosion in the Allan shaft in 1918. In 1935, seven men were killed by an explosion in the same pit.

[william-nilliam-was-taken]

i am the world's most normal person (is coping with the death of their favorite british man by drawing him as a ghost)

[brownsugar-chan]

Traintober day 1: Free day This is something I've been working on for a while based on a conversation @galushanationalrailways and I had!

[megabuild]

hi boss it's another mine worker here. since that other guy is being a PUSSY and NOT WORKING can I have his job. I need to fatten my linkedin like. wait didn't you make a post a while ago saying there was feedism drama within the mcyt community. I neeeeed to fatten my linkedin like etho fattens bdubs CONSENTUALLY!! or something. You'll be pleased to know I'm minmaxxing my smoke "breaks" (I should call them smoke "works" ahah) by chuffing back three marlboro reds at once. I hope to work my way up to four by next week but I'm still working on opening my mouth that much. BTW what's the budget looking like for next month? I'd like to propose a couple of fresh pickaxes. our current ones still work but they've turned yellow from nicotine and some of us are curious to compare the colours. think it would be real good for team morale to take two minutes to go "ooh sick", give a couple of high fives to the lads, watch the lit cigarette ashes trickle down like fireworks. Anyway if PTO is on the table can I get next Friday off. I need to get my wife pregnant but my penis is blocked with coaldust.

Atp im going to start discriminating against workers who have partners because yall are taking too much time off for "dates" and "anniversaries" and "birth of my child". Keep the smokes up though buddy youll be employee of the month in no time if you don't get fired before then

[jils-things]

im SO gonna make a bucket list of rpg games to replay and try out for the first time. im having an indie game kick rn...

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

welp, went on to create the most self-indulgent clan

[bottleofwormjuice]

do you yearn for the mines?

absolutely give me a pickaxe ill go wild

[mollywog]

I wonder if Katniss ever thinks about her life if she’d been born after the rebellion and her father had worked at the medicine factory instead of the mines.

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

so there was this pub, the crooked house or the siden house, where im from that was kinda famous for being the "wonkiest pub in britain". its been there since 1765 (it was originally a farmhouse) and let me tell you, the inside was some of the coolest shit ive seen. it was fucking bostin.

but four days ago, it burnt down. now its nothing but rubble, and its being treated as an arson for the investigation.

and just,,, im so gutted. i have that kind of sadness where you feel empty inside because this was our pub. we're an impoverished area and a lot of our country laughs at us for the way we speak, but we're proud of our local culture and history.

honestly the siden house represented us; we're a little wonky bunch with our dialect the most close to old english and banding together like misfits in a movie.

but now its just gone. its one of the few tranklements of our history we get to hold and its just fucking gone, at someones hand. it was probably new developer who just bought it because its the cheapest way to clear a lot.

and i ay even angry at whoever it was, im just sad. as a brit, i hold no pride for my country and the history of it. but i am a proud yam yam, and right now, it just hurts.

[girderednerve]

The proposed crackdown on silica follows a fraught history of the mine safety agency's decades of failure to protect miners from the toxic dust. The proposal also overlooks a history of overexposure at coal mines.

Again, this downplays the need and justification for action.

The rule notes that 93% of silica dust samples have been in compliance with existing silica dust limits since 2016. But the remaining 7% of samples amount to 5,300 instances of excessive exposure to the dust based on the newly proposed limit, according to MSHA data analyzed by Louisville Public Media and Public Health Watch.

In the 30 years leading up to 2016, agency data analyzed by NPR and Frontline found 21,000 excessive silica dust samples based on the existing limit. More than twice that many dust samples — 52,000 — exceeded the newly proposed limit.

This means that coal miners worked amid dangerous levels of silica dust — which is easily inhaled, easily lodges in lungs and can lead to severe disease and death — tens of thousands of times in 30 years.

During those three decades, the risk of silica dust exposure increased, as mining consumed the thickest coal seams, leaving thinner seams embedded in rock. Cutting those thinner seams generated more fine silica particles.

Also, during that period, the agency did not respond effectively to the threat.

[lemonine]

i also got Really Really dirty. the ground was so dry everything turned into a sandpit. my black shoes are now brown. if i wipe my finger across my arm my fingertip comes up soot black