The grave annoyance of procuring a more substantial income has violently torn me away from the comforts of our home, pushed me onto the G-train, and slapped me onto the streets of midtown Manhattan. Most of my theatre writing pursuits send me there, too.
For both, I am so very grateful for the opportunity. But North Brooklyn is the only city in the world that I have lived where I feel like it is both a luxurious vacation and a tenacious lover. It’s unhealthy, perhaps. Sure. Nevertheless, I am physically and psychologically addicted.
So! When news arrived last month that both of the two lower floors of our building were leaving July 1st, we jumped up and down a hundred times. We brushed off our hula hoops. We gave a thousand toasts and dreamed great delusions of grandeur. A whole house!
We would build our commune.
We will have a backyard, a small plot to construct beds to grow food. We will have a basement to harbor our homemade beer. We will have offices for our transmedia projects, three! kitchens, and separate safehouses for the majority of our creative collective, the Goddamn Cobras.
I should be advised to call it an “intentional community” but I absolutely loathe this seemingly clinical term. Fortunately, I have a penchant for sensationalism.
Commune is more much more romantic. It’s delicious. Albeit creepy. Stay tuned. !!
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Hi Liz, what about an overalls commune
I would move right away !
it’s funny talking about communes, that my very first job as teacher at the University in Denmark in ’74, was on The Paris Commune 1871:) and in fact, there were a lot of small communes around in France, well I do hope to have an excuse to go and visit you again when you are gardening, if not before, then next year where I’m going to Stanford for the Spring semester, overall greetings