Pembertome (Pemberton Library)
Reduce, Reuse, Recycle
I first saw Martin Dahinden playing with toys in the sunshine. This stocky Swede had created a solar-powered Neverland, with all manner of whizzing gizmos to entertain the children crowding around. There was also what looked like a cast-iron fishtank containing fat lumps of dough. This I was informed was a solar cooker, cooking cookies. If I wanted to learn more about such sustainable technologies, said this portly Peter Pan, I should order some books from a green publisher for whom he occasionally acted as agent. I promised to do so and did.
A few weeks later I went round to his house in the Industrial Park to pick up my goods. I use the term ‘house’ in the loosest sense possible. It is in fact a vast watertank of unfinished concrete, somewhat reminiscent of a pagan cave shrine, filled with an array of urban offerings. Above this sits a sunny two-bed apartment, and outside is a junkyard, framed by a pair of giant totem poles. There are vehicles in various forms of working order, including an old truck stating prominently ‘Reduce, Reuse, Recycle’.
Reduce is what Martin does to bullshit. He hates all forms of bureaucracy and pointless administration. In a free country, he says, why the need to get permission from unelected officials to engage in creative activity upon your own land? They should mind their own business, and let him take personal responsibility for his.
Reuse is what Martin does to materials. He hates any kind of waste and will sell it, hoard it or use it immediately. That’s why his ‘basement’ and yard are filled with treasures. In a world of increasingly scarce resources and environmental crisis, this is the most responsible action for a human being to undertake.
Recycle is what Martin does to people. He remains on the dark fringe of respectable society, and tends to associate with its other shadowy denizens. These are people with great visions and dreams, sitting within an infinite spectrum of possibilities. With his proactive attitude, Martin welcomes these people into his life, to work, live, eat, drink, laugh, cry and travel with him on a childhood fantasy adventure.
I am proud to be one of the lost children in Martin’s Neverland. I look forward to the day that we may call it Everland.
A few weeks later I went round to his house in the Industrial Park to pick up my goods. I use the term ‘house’ in the loosest sense possible. It is in fact a vast watertank of unfinished concrete, somewhat reminiscent of a pagan cave shrine, filled with an array of urban offerings. Above this sits a sunny two-bed apartment, and outside is a junkyard, framed by a pair of giant totem poles. There are vehicles in various forms of working order, including an old truck stating prominently ‘Reduce, Reuse, Recycle’.
Reduce is what Martin does to bullshit. He hates all forms of bureaucracy and pointless administration. In a free country, he says, why the need to get permission from unelected officials to engage in creative activity upon your own land? They should mind their own business, and let him take personal responsibility for his.
Reuse is what Martin does to materials. He hates any kind of waste and will sell it, hoard it or use it immediately. That’s why his ‘basement’ and yard are filled with treasures. In a world of increasingly scarce resources and environmental crisis, this is the most responsible action for a human being to undertake.
Recycle is what Martin does to people. He remains on the dark fringe of respectable society, and tends to associate with its other shadowy denizens. These are people with great visions and dreams, sitting within an infinite spectrum of possibilities. With his proactive attitude, Martin welcomes these people into his life, to work, live, eat, drink, laugh, cry and travel with him on a childhood fantasy adventure.
I am proud to be one of the lost children in Martin’s Neverland. I look forward to the day that we may call it Everland.
You won’t be saying that later
On my first day in Pemberton I was introduced to a crinkled cowboy rambling behind a rotten barn. Wanting to create a good impression I extended my hand and spoke in a formal manner. “Pleased to meet you,” I said.
With a sly smile he rolled out “You’re saying that now. You won’t be saying that later!” Taken aback by this great breach of etiquette, I mumbled something unintelligible and withdrew.
Despite our unorthodox introduction, I got to know Dennis Collins quite well. I found him to be one of the funniest people I ever met. Dennis is a walkin’ talkin’ Newfie party, with or without Corona beer. He believes in aliens, because ‘Either I’m an alien and the rest are human beings, or everyone else is an alien and I’m the only human.” With the suicidal madness of the modern world, I know how he feels.
For many years Dennis has been running a loss-making trail riding business. Doesn’t he already have enough to handle with his busy construction business, regular war with the IRS, animal sanctuary & mini-farm, newlywed wife to romance, and ongoing treatments for various ailments?
He explains that all of these things are intimately connected. The construction business pays the household bills, the IRS are aliens, the animal sanctuary is a haven for distressed animals he’s picked up, the trail-riding business is a way for at least the horses to earn their keep, the mini-farm occasionally provides eggs & milk, the newlywed wife was met through their mutual love of horses, and the ongoing treatments are scientific attempts to ascertain his alien status, or otherwise. So everything is truly connected, as all great mystics have spoken. Dennis is half-joke, half-wisdom, and all heart. He’s also fixed up the rotten barn into a real beauty.
Despite his initial greeting, I am very pleased to have met Dennis Collins. And I am saying that later.
With a sly smile he rolled out “You’re saying that now. You won’t be saying that later!” Taken aback by this great breach of etiquette, I mumbled something unintelligible and withdrew.
Despite our unorthodox introduction, I got to know Dennis Collins quite well. I found him to be one of the funniest people I ever met. Dennis is a walkin’ talkin’ Newfie party, with or without Corona beer. He believes in aliens, because ‘Either I’m an alien and the rest are human beings, or everyone else is an alien and I’m the only human.” With the suicidal madness of the modern world, I know how he feels.
For many years Dennis has been running a loss-making trail riding business. Doesn’t he already have enough to handle with his busy construction business, regular war with the IRS, animal sanctuary & mini-farm, newlywed wife to romance, and ongoing treatments for various ailments?
He explains that all of these things are intimately connected. The construction business pays the household bills, the IRS are aliens, the animal sanctuary is a haven for distressed animals he’s picked up, the trail-riding business is a way for at least the horses to earn their keep, the mini-farm occasionally provides eggs & milk, the newlywed wife was met through their mutual love of horses, and the ongoing treatments are scientific attempts to ascertain his alien status, or otherwise. So everything is truly connected, as all great mystics have spoken. Dennis is half-joke, half-wisdom, and all heart. He’s also fixed up the rotten barn into a real beauty.
Despite his initial greeting, I am very pleased to have met Dennis Collins. And I am saying that later.
Brother Beyond
Myson should be regulated. Otherwise he is just too much. A builder & decorator, traditional orchardist, global intellectual & local historian, green database, political & environmental activist, hitchhiker, socialite, poet & writer, Semitic romantic, comedian & all-round provocateur. He hovers dangerously on the edge of Pemberton with his thumb up: requesting a ride or signing something about your mother in Arabic. To become even slightly comprehensible, he must be divided into his core archetypal components. He is a mix of three brothers, each younger and more innocent than the next:
Tyson. The king of brutal boxing (pux pugme). Of his fifty heavyweight fights, all but one were knockouts, usually first round. He is a heartless, neckless lump of meat, full of anger, hatred and pain. Myson has built up a reputation as a violent firebrand. An incendiary. He is expected to jump up out of his seat at public meetings, ask embarrassing questions and spread suspicion and fear. Don’t shoot the messenger! It is a vital public service and we get it for free.
Dyson. Vacuum cleaners (shinkuusoujiki) were all alike in functionality. But then a genius inventor created a motor that spun vertically, creating zero loss of suction. It took him a while to get it right, but he persevered and succeeded. Myson also has wild ideas that may just be brilliant. If only he and we could work together to manifest them. The world is moving backwards to small communities reliant upon traditional knowledge. This may be when our local treasure will shine.
Bison. Relative of the buffalo (bubalis bubalis). There were once huge herds of these free ranging beasts. They ruled the plains. But their simple lives were assaulted by the fiercer ways of man, and they were decimated. Myson is a free spirit that needs to be left to his own devices. He is a patient worker who follows a strange logic, but is always original. We must ensure his spirit is not needlessly slaughtered by the rules of others.
It is the combined essence of Tyson, Dyson and Bison that creates the enigma of their overbearing overlord – Myson.
Tyson. The king of brutal boxing (pux pugme). Of his fifty heavyweight fights, all but one were knockouts, usually first round. He is a heartless, neckless lump of meat, full of anger, hatred and pain. Myson has built up a reputation as a violent firebrand. An incendiary. He is expected to jump up out of his seat at public meetings, ask embarrassing questions and spread suspicion and fear. Don’t shoot the messenger! It is a vital public service and we get it for free.
Dyson. Vacuum cleaners (shinkuusoujiki) were all alike in functionality. But then a genius inventor created a motor that spun vertically, creating zero loss of suction. It took him a while to get it right, but he persevered and succeeded. Myson also has wild ideas that may just be brilliant. If only he and we could work together to manifest them. The world is moving backwards to small communities reliant upon traditional knowledge. This may be when our local treasure will shine.
Bison. Relative of the buffalo (bubalis bubalis). There were once huge herds of these free ranging beasts. They ruled the plains. But their simple lives were assaulted by the fiercer ways of man, and they were decimated. Myson is a free spirit that needs to be left to his own devices. He is a patient worker who follows a strange logic, but is always original. We must ensure his spirit is not needlessly slaughtered by the rules of others.
It is the combined essence of Tyson, Dyson and Bison that creates the enigma of their overbearing overlord – Myson.
