I've been writing a great deal lately, but Rum & Donuts has still suffered greatly over the past few months. My writing has been going to other projects, including some not yet made public. I've written so little here that Amazon canceled my Kindle publishing (not that it was exactly successful anyway, save for seeing that tool in action). Hopefully there are still enough readers following to take note of a new post.
I'll be Twenty-Five in a couple of days. I'm remarkably unimpressed by birthdays for maybe the first time. That might have something to do with seeing that maybe I do have time to do the things I want to do. The maddening rush of my early twenties, driven primarily by college, seems to've slowed to something more realistic. I'm not interested in “settling” by any means (not in, not down, and certainly not for), but I am interested by far in more permanence. If there is any maddening pressure it is now to be doing things which contribute significantly, tangibly, not just to my immediate but to my long-term. My casual interests in sustainability, self-sufficiency and all manner of other skills for a life well earned in any circumstances, are becoming less casual.
Many of these interests are very much at home on the ranch, and I am beginning to really get into them. Next years garden, for which I am already preparing, is going to be significant. My goal is to grant my folks a greater degree of self sufficiency, and thus freedom with their income, via a serious garden. To me, this is an investment in my future; Securing my family and beginning hands on learning that will be foundational for practices I desire to make a larger part of my life away from here. Though when I return, soon, to more urban settings I'll not have the same amount of room for raising food, I will still be able to use lessons learned from what I'll have created here.
Taking my gardening with me to the urban space is not all I have desire for, in moving back to the city. A more urban setting is more truly vital for other things I desire to foster. I really wish I had a space in which to create something different. A collaborative space for people who strike marks in the world with acts of iron and flesh; Who find themselves full in those hard actions between civilization and destruction. I envision a space where things come together. A space full of iron and knives, sinew, nylon, and will. That smells of gun-oil, metal being milled, wood being worked, and flesh sweating. A place of performance and evolution: Of pitiless evaluation, and uncompromised growth. The forge running in the yard, iron being lifted and flesh formed inside, heavy bags and mock-opponents being dealt repeated learning blows, fires being started from raw sticks and sheer will. I have friends interested in my pursuits, in the wilds, with tools and weapons and with shaping the flesh, the corporeal self; I desire to create a space for those things to be shared and explored more fully.
I also desire a space which I can fill with books and interesting things of that nature; Records, a turntable, maps and photographs, comfortable arrangements and good lighting for coffee and reading. A pile of books to be lent out by the door, and music always filling the space. I am much more of a social animal than I ever thought I would be, and my socialization is working and thinking, and joying in such things with fellows. Of all the things I miss from the city, that is what I miss the most.
All this takes its rightful place though, as all things must. Captivating, compelling, even driving, these interests and pursuits must still be put aside for more important things. I tell her all the many things I am thinking about, and she scoffs, “You should free up your mind. So, forget the plants, forget tomorrow. Now sushi, sex, and me should be left. What sense do you make of it?”
And I say that it occurs to me “that if the world were a right and just place, I'd be eating sushi off your naked body. Not sure if that is a form of 'sense' or not... but I like the idea”.