“Certain things become oddly satisfying, when you are single. Like moving and organizing your lumber, so that every useable scrap is eventually accounted for, sorted and stacked neatly, for easy access. My studio, a construction site, and yet ... I am the master of my domain, however rudimentary, in process, or incomplete it may be. Holding the plastic nozzle of the shop vac like a wand, I lovingly wave it, sucking sawdust, and detritus of every variety, happily clearing the way. Crawling beneath plywood stair risers to capture fragments of rock wool insulation, picking out screws, and bonking my head, hard, as I rise in retreat. Who hasn’t felt this pain, this kick in the rear, the unexpected slap to the face, the abrupt severance of ties we didn’t see coming. Trying to do right, trying to make good, trying, trying, trying. It’s the dues we pay, to walk outside the lines, as we dream on, in our naive state of believing all will end well. It frequently doesn’t. Although it could, and kudos to any typical, bourgeois happy endings. That’s hardly a thing anymore, yet for the time being, the illusions are still functional. Alas, for the rest of us. For whom waves of reality keep swelling into monstrous storms on the regular. So what is real? What is patently made up? Which reality will we choose? I’ve spent a lot of time, lately, either with my hands dirty, & up to my ears in flowers, or moping about the house, in a state of cognitive dissonance. Does anyone really think we’re “back to normal”? This kind of denial is lazy, criminal, at best. Take a ride with me, and let’s talk. I wish to connect with those of you, who wished or still wish to bifurcate society. Haven’t you had enough of it? In the spirit of our former selves, let’s sit down and have a coffee. I find myself seeking out places to rest, and the garden is a world I can always count on. Unrolling my body, from a bend, to a half crouch, to fully seated, on the dirt, aware of my bad knee, thinking ahead to the next bold move of my ever-changing terrain, & to what I’ll do with my digger, sculpting space, utilizing the gold of manual labor, repetition and industry. So much can get done in a day. Which is all you need to know. Whether you’re stuck in a hospital bed, wired up to bags & monitors, or weed whacking, or trying to think of what to say in a letter, to someone who has historically judged you and put you down. And like I said to my friend, I drive my truck over hill & dale to give myself time to expand my thinking, & this is not rocket science. The path over the gap takes me to just where I feel I should be. Faced with a crossroads, a lure, a fantasy of mysterious proportions, but nothing that can’t be accomplished in a day. That’s how every day should be. A new hardware store, a new back road, & moments of confusion, maybe even fear, points of truth in which we doubt, and overcome that doubt. I feel brave enough in the end, as the thunderclouds open up and huge plops began to hammer the hood of my Chevy, to duck my head & enter Bisbee’s, in search of Permatex valve-grinding compound which no one has apparently ever heard of. Again, the blank stares, as I stammer out my obscure request. No matter, dear reader. Keep asking for the things you believe are essential for your life. On a simpler, less compromised planet, and bolder, un-crapped up version of our world, wish fulfillment is ho-hum. Of course we have it, here it is. You deserve to have what you need, full stop. Love is everything.”
