Promises, or lack thereof, in September
Hello from my childhood bedroom. It’s been months of me daydreaming about all the things I want to write; mentally constructing perfect paragraphs on walks or driving around or in the shower, heavy-hitter sentences lathered and frothing with insights poetic and to the point. Then my attention would slip, as usual, and the thoughts lost.
Similar to how days seem to get lost when attention slips, and so a year that only just started is somehow September. Not that nothing’s happened. But certainly not enough, and not enough of what I wanted to happen. Like these blogs. I want these blogs again. But I think I had to stop writing because for quite a while I didn’t actually know what to write. Not that I didn’t have thoughts but mostly because the only writing worth doing is writing that is white-knuckled with truth, death-row honesty, the final words when the chips are down that cut through the dust and create the peculiar effect of when you’re having a conversation with someone and something is said that just strikes at the core of your consciouses and you know that human connection, real, authentic, truthful human connection is quite possibly the reason for existence.
Beyond everything else, seeing and being seen, the commonality of our humanity, the base understanding of our togetherness before it spirals out into fractals of complexity. That’s worth saying. That’s worth the time of your reading, the time spent of your attention, when art feels sweeter than honey.
The chips haven’t been down in a while. They’ve been blown around in dust devils of what most probably sadness and I wasn’t quite able to catch them. A lot of what I’ve wanted to say over the last couple months has been sent in accumulated texts to various lovers and friends in acts of bridge burning, absolution, curiosity and confusion. I think I might have caused a lot of damage with my thinking outloud. But anyways, it got to a point where despite my fighting it, a lot of things ended at once and with it a huge part of the house of cards I had constructed to pass for the things that could make up a day. But it was done with increasingly restlessness, because I always knew it was silly.
So now this. Five weeks back in the heartlands. But philosophical readjustments aside, you gotta buy your milk at the end of the day. It hasn’t only been naval-gazing and pontificating. There’s been projects underway and I am looking forward to sharing that, not only because of the easy pleasantness to grasp things like meaning in work, but because it is based on true foundations that I fought all the way down to find.
I do want to find a way to tell the story of the last couple months. It’s a goodie, complete with emergency room hospital visits, meteors, coffee with revolutionaries and stories of how everyday is a good day to die. Along the way I realised I was Catholic, and realised is the right word here, and I’m still finding the words to explain what happened. There’s been falling in and out of love like the sun rising and setting, both as beautiful, as blinding, with equally beautiful men who in their silence and conflicted place in the 21st century conception of masculinity find their way. I don’t quite know if I’m not taking love seriously at all anymore, or if this is perhaps me finally giving it the gravitas it deserves, now that it’s devoid of any claims or control.
There’s the West, or Western Ideals at least, and what it means, and the rise and fall and rise again of these ideals. There’s working towards making the world better, fairer, smarter - working towards putting in place the tens of thousands of tiny bits that build a nation, that perpetuates the experiment of order, that create progress. There’s problems that bloom like portals to better ways of being.
There’s been the rapid development of my venture fund and studio, the return of my fringe which for a brief, remarkable moment was more of a mullet. I’ve become fond of baseball caps lately, so the cap combined with the mullet and the huge gold cross I wear constantly was a hell of a look. Enjoying it immensely.
There’s been work back in Parliament. The Roman way of public sector life as a key part of what it means to be a citizen. I’ve been thinking a lot about what went into shaping a constitution. A couple weeks ago I went for a walk to Magna Carta by Windsor. The moment felt huge for me. A keystone marker along the path of human rights. Just like the South African constitution, which stands out in history as a triumph of justice.
In 2024, defending the core freedoms and rights of humanity is as urgent, as necessary as ever. Over the last few months I’ve been watching as countries that had once been bastions of freedom have begun encroaching on the foundational rights and ways of life that built the strongest civilisations humanity has ever known, encroaching on the rights that created the highest quality of life humans have ever known.
I think what's become clear is that even though freedom is a right, it has to be fought for in every generation, because in every generation there will be those who, for various reasons, will try to take those freedoms away. We cannot let them.
And whether it's Mandela telling us this, or Churchill, or perhaps Atlas Shrugged or V for Vendetta or 1984, it's a core tenet that needs to be imbued by every individual, justified by independent thought so that scrutiny is maintained when those in power use a truncheon in lieu of conversation. To rebuke censors and systems of surveillance coercing conformity and soliciting submission.
Here I’ll stop, because my coffee needs a refill and I’m still gathering my thoughts on this matter.
It’s good to be back. Hoping to make this a weekly gig again. No promises though, not yet, though September is a good month for promises - with leaves either sprouting or falling depending on your side of the planet. Change long overdue and finally knocking on your door. The time will pass regardless. You can kick and scream and negotiate all you want, but once you’re out of options, the ease of… God, what’s the word here… the ease of, maybe just; ease, the ease of ease feels like your mind is as vast as the sky, and if you’re lucky enough, as empty as it on a perfect day.
I’ll see you next week.