Camp 1 | Stuffed again

StuffYesterday I was cleaning the floor. Mopping up two litres of rain. Meanwhile spreading dirt with boots. How did I do it past fall? I didn’t. Floor was leaking. It was just dirty.
Now cleaning a square to tread on socks. Kneeling. Rubbing a bit more. New water. Next bit. Water black. Jerry-can getting empty. Cleaning more with dirtier cloth. Getting excited. Nearly done. Walking on socks in the whole front tent. Feeling happy. Next day. Dirty boots. Dirty floor. Still some puddles under the bed. Rain screen not ready yet. Rings to finish can’t be found. Next store. Next. Time’s up. Late to see friends. Cancelling. Sorting out more practical problems. And more.

A rich life, right? With less stuff? Less? Must be less. Too much here. Pack things to bring to home front. Do I need the playing cards? More thinking about stuff. Make list of things needed from home front for mini festival. Don’t forget anything, it’s eight kilometres with bicycle cart. Still have to make a deck for the thing. Next. Sort out moulded shoes. Stuff again. Postponing the dishes. More stuff. Computer problems related to moist? Hope not. Want stuff to work. Fixing lamp. Not got right equipment. Must ask host again for right tool.

Poetry? Transcending the everyday? Would like to. How? First fix stuff. All about fixing the stuff. So I don’t have to think about it. Stuff works: head empty. Now stuffed. Like tent.

What did friendly nomad say? You have to live it to know it. Visitors see somewhat of an ideal, practically it is much more about finding wood and getting water.
Another friend asked: isn’t it already like a holiday? Yeah, got the gear. Don’t got the time. Got a gig to work on. Few hours to sit. Don’t call that holiday. Let’s clean up the tools. Post this, go to bed. Tomorrow find plastic boxes. Plastic is good. No mould or moist. And transport. Don’t forget. Move the superfluous, fetch the missed. Yeah, that was key. To miss it. To know what I truly need. Or what is forgotten. After a while. Need peace. Will get it. Tomorrow, on a bicycle cart.


  1. “A rich life, right? With less stuff?… Visitors see somewhat of an ideal.” What you’re doing is partly theater. People don’t usually choose to see what goes on backstage.

    In freeing yourself from possessions, you’ve trapped yourself at the mercy of nature. You’re living an almost Old Testament life, when God was not always merciful. Rain is unforgiving; hold out for the sunshine.

    • Yes, you are right. Now that daily life is seeping in (not to mention the rain) the stage curtains are fraying and tearing. I am happy to learn it the hard way though, through experience. Helps to understand.

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