In the back of every mind there is a hope for space. A little mental space. A little emotional space. A little creative space. I've been dreaming for years of that tool shed behind the house, at the back of the back yard, before you reach the fence, between the two trees. A little experimental bay, a little place to drink a beer and screw around with something. A place to store the shit my wife has been trying to get rid of. Pack rat habits meet suburban 50s greaser dreams eloping with the inner shaper in all of us. Mr. Lentini has it happening for him. Here is a guy fashioning real pedigree for his kids. This is inspirational shit. Mastastico.
2 comments:
That's a damn fine dream.
along these lines. I spent several hours in the fork of my 100 year old doug fir tree. And I got to thinking about bird nests--I was pruning at the time and seeing quite a few nests. I was thinking how a human sized nest with rough scrap exterior and soft tendril interior, like a bed, like a nest, would be delightful. So we're going to build a big nest in the tree and we'll keep little knick-knacks up there, things like old analogue phones, and tube monitors, and roller skates and things like that in the nest. And you go up there with your copy of War and Peace and you just hang out drifting in and out of sleep and text and life isn't so bad 13 feet off the ground.
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