Who is that good looking mayor?

Since I have a history of suits, and a few extra inches than my compatriots, I am the liason to the surrounding townships. We negotiated the transfer of land and group bargained for many resources. I have hosted town meetings, I have walked with CEOs and dissertated about policy. Together with my compatriots in the field, degreed and degreeless people, skilled folk attracted by community, peace, and loving life, or refugees, we pump the handle at the well of life.

I've helped chalk out a pretty good life for most of the people who live on our land. I would do it all again, even if I knew. This is the life I am destined for, and that our humanity is waiting for.

Life grows on love. Love is worth protecting, but it is also worth defending, but it is also worth experiencing, and it is also worth making.

I live on land.

I live in my garage, which is also a lab. It's written off as a business expense. I have a PO Box in town.

My attitude and the places I have access to are the backbone of real living texture that I lay upon reality. I built the garage with my compatriots from chicken wire and Portland cement. I could park my RV on the roof.

It is a three bay garage with rooms off to either side, containing a stairwell to the roof and the office. I am planting a garden on the roofwork.

There is running water and power for the computer. I keep my costs low and work doing whatever I want. Which turns out to be removing garbage from people's garages and attics, hauling vegetable oil from restaurants, painting every now and then, making using and selling biodiesel and ethanol, and a little bit of repair work on whatever rolls my way or gets dropped off.

I built the cistern. I cook my own food.

I arranged my own house. I am one of the civic leaders of a rural commune in West Virginia.

We grow hemp. We grow jimsonweed. We grow tomatoes and violets, liquor stills and foodcrops. Some guy down the road owns cows. I tested the dairymilk for Strontium-90. Lower than the national average.

I live on land.

Down in Denver

I write.

I was organizing a collaboration of mechanics to start a project of converting an offline powerplant to run on the biodiesel so it could support electricity for the surrounding rural communities. This company Brockland owns the plant, but they may be defunct and the place isn't worth a dime except for the metal. Still standing, though. I may rev over to the DMV and see who owns it now.

Could be good community service.

Nomads

I am a nomad. I have been living comfortably in the new economy since 2007.

I wander in my 2001 Ford F-350, running on a 6.7L V-10 biodiesel engine. I make the fuel myself in my lab. I converted it myself.

I live in the lab. It is a cement, high ceilinged 3-door garage containing my pets, toys and motors. 3 walls are lined with couches I have hauled away gleefully from my 'company's' garbage removal customers. A fridge rests between two of the couches in the back of one of the bays.

Sitting chromed like currency in one of the bays is a darling ethanol-running motorcycle. Black and block metal colored, LED-bundle single headlight. Low shield. I don't make the ethanol anymore.

Next to the shop is where I usually park the RV. Hauled by the mighty biodiesel V-10, I have strolled this from California to Newfoundland and everywhere in between. Mexico to Michigan. And why not? I live wherever I please.

But enough about me. It is powerfully lonely out on the road. Entertaining friends and meeting and educating strangers, fellow heads, and business and state leaders is socially rewarding service, but I have no one to call my own.

www.journeytoforever.org/biofuel.html
www.ferrocement.com
www.daviscaves.com