no, storage unit. I do not want an email or a phone call every time I go in. I do not want you to track when i come in and leave. I want you to fix the elevator, and I want to never have to use you again. I would much rather rent a small warehouse unit with some friends to use as a co-op workshop / hang out space.
I dream of a hacker space that is a real community space, with shared tools and individual storage lockers / closets for people to use.
I dream of a tea shop, a coffee shop, a parlor, a living room.
of a cozy, comfy space full of conversation nooks and different levels.
of galleries, of shops,
of pseudo-storefronts of many kinds,
manned and organized by our friends.
Perhaps my corner is full of tea and coffee
and electronics
Perhaps yours is full of yarn and knitting and weaving.
Whatever the case, I dream of a community full of life.
And not so worried for what every tomorrow might hold.
no, storage unit. I do not want an email or a phone call every time I go in. I do not want you to track when i come in and leave. I want you to fix the elevator, and I want to never have to use you again. I would much rather rent a small warehouse unit with some friends to use as a co-op workshop / hang out space.
the only places squatters rights go too far are :
- heritability without both care and occupancy
- and exclusive rights over anything other than your body
we belong to our ecosystem. it belongs to us, but we do not have the right to destroy or steal things that others depend on now, especially when we think we know better.
i am squatter, scavenger, thief.
i must make niches in which to fit.
i see use in trash,
make places from gaps, from cracks,
become rebel from
simple inability to capitulate.
the only places squatters rights go too far are :
- heritability without both care and occupancy
- and exclusive rights over anything other than your body
we belong to our ecosystem. it belongs to us, but we do not have the right to destroy or steal things that others depend on now, especially when we think we know better.
I like stories with texture. Even if it distracts from plot.
Give me an extravagant sense of place and a mystic's appreciation of focus -
Show me constellations of stars in coiling ribbons of smoke. Show me secrets of language in a bird's dance. Make me feel chill breeze in the leaden, strangling air of summer, and lose me amidst twining paths in a starlit wood. Leave me staring, certain I've seen a glimmer of the most precious apparition in dark masts of bamboo.
weird, but pretty normal about it.
I've found myself bringing up Fedi/Mastodon in other lives a lot lately. I feel like I unintentionally recommend it. But friends, if you see this, I don't recommend mastodon or fedi in general. I just like my little corner. If you're reading this, that probably means you. I like the people in this corner, not the software or the moderation decisions or rules. I sometimes appreciate those things. But I like you. Thanks for sharing your worlds here; thanks for sharing this place with me.
lemon balm,
lilac,
elm leaves in the fall.
sweet pea,
grape leaf,
pine in the woodstove
and the rainstorms of summer.
these are the smells of home.
what are yours? are there any, like the elm, that have disappeared from your world?
cathos