The hard part is, you can’t have this because you want it. You couldn’t even have it if you needed it. It’s never going to be that easy for you, for any of you. It has taken me, us, two years to build this, and this thing was not easy. Forget what you think you see when you see us together. This thing was not easy. Although, at times it seemed to assemble itself without much design on our part. But that was and is our privilege.
You don’t have that privilege. You are fast off the block now, but the gunshot was last week.
You don’t deserve this place I now call home, the walls of which we put up with our bare hands before they were calloused. The paint that, to you, freckles my pants in chaos, was mixed on our time, and layed out evenly in thick bars without overlap. And although the heat and sweat sandpapered our brows and made it laborious at times, man, these walls. These fucking walls look divine.
And I haven’t even told you about the floor. Would you like to know? Yes, hardwood. Where did we get the wood? Fuck you, we grew it. Though I’ve never been told this, I’ve heard that if you want something done right, then do it yourself. Mother nature could not have grown these trees any better then we have. Red Quebracho, also known as the “axe breaker.” South American. Generations of squirrels had generations of squirrels while these suckers shot up like wooden geysers through the dirt. But even so, there were several times where the floors seemed to bow and moan sharply downward so that we had no choice but to tumble towards it’s center, knocking our heads together. Teeth hitting teeth. But you should see this floor of ours. This fucking floor of ours is worth dying on.
The ceiling we had flown in from Japan, by a French Architect that speaks several endangered aboriginal languages. He is dead now.
You now must be rolling yours eyes and saying to yourself, don’t tell me, the door is made of 5Cr-Mo-V reinforced sheet steel used most frequently in aerospace engineering, and of which has an Ftu of up to 280 ksi?” It is, and it does.
There is no glass in our windows. Air passes through all space. Life is allowed to come in and out with the safety and freedom it deserves.
It has taken me two years and counting to build the place I now call home. It was not immediate. There was no rush to seize property. I did not plunge a spear in to the ground and declare it mine or call it beautiful before I knew it. I claimed it because I appreciate it. I claimed it because I thought of it, because I went to it day after day after day until I was sure there was solid enough ground in which to live on. I claimed it because it claimed me.
My point in this cluttered, heavy handed metaphor: I have a mansion with a steel door and eighteen German Shepards with the same loyalty the light has for the sun. You have a stick, a pair of binoculars, and a bag of “likes.” You are going to have to try a lot harder than that, because we can see you in the infrared scope on our homemade Tesla Cannon, and you look very very small.