I believe we are animals put on this earth for a single lifetime––if we are fortunate we replicate in a sustainable way, knowing that humans could go either way.**
We need to think globally and tailor sustainability solutions to each local community. Through transactional flow. Putting money (if it will not cease to exist) to Gross National Happiness (GNH) focused use. Fabric.
Defining happiness and all its concomitant manifestations in a way that many can accept is the real challenge, which is why I've put myself in intercultural settings for most of my adult life.
GNH (as envisioned within fabric) has a number of parts, including: aesthetics, history and historocity, pollution (sewage, air, light, noise, marine, trash, etc.) money flow, exchange of goods and services, macro-level community visions, infrastructure, delivery of service, and practical local knowledge.
I do not have faith in print and I do not have faith in Internet readers. I seldom watch videos, I love to listen to conversation and music,observe.
I readily admit that I would never catch a blog of the type I put up under the monicker EnduranceWriter. Worthy individual sites are incredibly hard to find. If general taste is truly as fickle and arbitrary as mine, so solidly centered in exploring old constructs because Google and Facebook and Medium say it shall be so... so be it.
To expect others to look at mine when I seldom look at theirs, is a major deviation from Kant's categorical imperative. At the same time, when you ain't got nothin' you got nothin' to lose.
I believe that I am a great writer and no one can penalize me for that. If even my family feels it is presumptuous to call myself an author, I will not judge quality or value by any litmus other than my own ability to move myself––be true to what I think, experience, or imagine.
It is that fire-forged, inwardly sourced belief in oneself that leads to second (and 3rd, 4th, 5th... 159th) revision efforts and gives prose its infinite flexibility.
Every sentence I write tries to get out new. I do my best to control them until they are ready to come up, but they simply press themselves on me and say with some urgency: one lifetime, get this out now.
Only thing is, I am not in Tokyo. So I am in a suitably decayed seaside town that is also quite collegial, historic and allows me to play flute among musicians, bullshit at poker, envision fabric, dance on a disco floor any old time. It gets me in the Roppongi mood as required and mood is everything. It is the difference between a rich old James Taylor or Richie Havens acoustic song and Taylor Swift, as hard as she tries.
Real words come from tragedy, we are haunted by past days of starving and striving. We promise "never again," that we will get practical and then we stay on that strict creative path. If you don't sell out, ultimately the wares you sell are your own self-grown herb, which you share freely.
The key to in situ novelistic research is to avoid confrontation and accept that intimacy is a gift, not a right. Sit back and observe, if inspiration fails to come. Describe what you see in a way that relates to what you are working through. Trying to be Steinbeck, finding the comedic positives and pathways forward in a dark world.
Speaking of Steinbeck and Hunter S. Thompson,I came across the oddest (true and verifiable) story ever, from an Aussie gent about smuggling a brick of hash out of Turkey in the "days of high Hippiedome" a couple days ago. That story, which blows anything on Vice or in the New Yorker out of the water, will be coming soon––maybe even before the next episode of Ari Park, 1.23, in which David decompresses and gets sloshed-for-a-cause.
** Two choices: cause the Earth's accelerating destruction or somehow bring biodiversity even further to the fore, as a form of penance and salvation.