I got this link from L.
I’m just listening and like, ‘What the…’
I wonder what you’ll think.
This is really…
More when I have more.
(Or maybe not. Let me not overthink it.)
This post is for J.
In the old days I would find pics on the internet that felt like they fit the mood for what Kismuth wanted to say and be. Of all the ones I kept, this is my favorite.
The rain came.
The rain stopped, momentarily.
It was one hell of a rain, just now. And I got stuck at a cafe. I got stuck because it was raining so hard I didn’t want to dash even the less-than-four-minute route it would take to get from that spot to this one, where I am, thanks to the spell of a breeze and some sun.
Meantime, while waiting, I chatted someone up and it was incredibly dull. I mean, really dull. I should probably refrain from even saying that because, well, it’s dull and that’s that, right? But as much as I give out about being the way I am (occasional curmudgeon, fully admitted, and antisocial, etc), the truth is, when four plus days pass, having packed everyone off for their own adventures so as to FOCUS and WRITE SOMETHING, and I haven’t spoken to anyone in real life I get a little… wigged out.
For the last two years, I took a break from Kismuth and my personal projects.
I wanted to see if I could collaborate.
Like, for real. With new people. In foreign lands. Maybe where I didn’t know anyone. Definitely where I didn’t speak what they did.
I guess I had it in mind that it could be a cool, beautiful and interesting way to see what else is ‘out there,’ and co-create with people I had yet to discover, and learn from.
Idealistic. Idyllic. And totally off.
This was a mixed bag.
I can’t stand blogs that go into the whole, ‘I’m so vulnerable’ and silly jazz like that, so I will refrain. But the short awakening was: I can’t work with too many people, and I know that, and I’ve known that for a long time.
Which. Was why. Of course it was why. I had started here. Writing Kismuth.
People would go, ‘Not everyone has the time and luxury to write and travel, like you.’
But yeah. I’m writing more here now. I’ve put together the new issue of Briefly in Sheffield. I loved this story and how people reacted to the zine version of it, which many of us in design like to think of as ‘prototyping’. Although, yeah. Some people think I want to be a ‘zine master.’
I just want to quickly flesh out a story, print it, let people read it, see if they like it. If they do, ask why. If they don’t, ask why.
What else is there?
A new book.
Coming in October. This is This. Pre-Order (USD $15) here.
I’ve written about Latvia, since so many people asked me to talk about it and share all that I had seen. I know it wasn’t a long trip, but for some reason this particular part of the world really held my attention (and I think my community of readers and acquaintances kind of got that, for some reason).
Since my father asked me a billion questions (okay, like four, but that’s a billion these days, isn’t it?), I’m dedicating it to him… RK :)
You don’t have to wait until October to get a sample of what this is going to read like… I’ve already been sharing bits and pieces of the conversations that I had while traveling in Latvia in these four issues of DK’s e-mag S P C, well not really traveling, but rather, looking for the stories in one spot, for six weeks. (I found quite a few, to be honest, but the best-of selections I will share in this new collection, This is This.
The title story in the seven-chapter eBook is based on a really great conversation I had with someone about ‘what art is’ and ‘what it isn’t’, which we both had to iron out for ourselves and then work into some degree of form which then got obliterated, philosophically and aeshetically, on one rather bizarre evening in the still-light night of 9PM.
We thought we had it figured out. Being super esoteric.
But we didn’t know a thing, and found out in a remarkable and weird moment of awakening to… something wildly unusual, unexpected and jarring in its tenacity.
I wrote about it.
That story itself, that’s the highlight of this new collection.
Every month I write a column for Charlotte, NC-based Saathee Magazine called ‘Kismuth & The Way.’ One of the columns featured Riga. You can find it online: read ‘Drifting into Riga’ here >
I’m really excited to share this. It’s been three years since I published a story here at Kismuth, owing, mostly, to the fact that I had committed two years to do the work at Design Kompany called ‘Atelier S P A C E.’ It took me to Singapore, Finland, Malaysia, Thailand, Latvia, and Slovakia. Read more about that here >
Atelier S P A C E wraps up at the end of September. That’s why this new book will come out in October. Atelier S P A C E helped me learn how to write, but more than that, how to listen. To new people. Sharing. Honest sharing… that’s all we ever do around here, at least, that’s what we do in the books. (Real life: harder, erm. Yeah.) Exclusive writing, new photography, black and white graphic art and other things feature in the new eBook.
Atelier S P A C E, though, was a project that I designed in order to get better at listening. Yup. To doing that. And just that. Mostly. That’s what I would do, I said, because that as where I was lacking skills. So I did.
Go and seek the new and different, in faraway places from those that were known and familiar to me.
Go. Talk to people. Uncover real stories about what they care about, wherever they are, and write them as honestly and in a form that’s delightful to read… at least, to do my best with that intention.
Writers always say their most recent work that’s published is their best. And, well… I feel that way about This is This.
Here’s how to pre-order…
‘You should be writing another book, is what.’
‘What you need to do is not think about the other books, but focus on the writings to come. And get them organized and sorted and put together and done.’
‘Yeah, DK. You’re good at finishing things. Why are you not writing another book?’
‘I’m always writing another book. I just… can’t quite… decide on how to organize the chapters and press print and stuff.’
‘Print isn’t the point. Writing is the point.’
‘You’re right, M.’
‘I know I am. Half of this is mostly me telling it to myself.’
‘It’s usually like that, isn’t it, the best advice?’
‘So now what I have to do is just pick one of the stories and flesh it out and make it happen.’
‘Make. It. Happen. Exactly.’
‘Thank you for this useful tight conversation. It wouldn’t have been possible, though, were we not talking already so adamantly about so very many things for the last four years, in real life. I trust your advice now. I trust that you know me well enough to know what it is I must do. Instead of just offering whatever-general-lalala-advice, you’re giving me something I know is customized for me.’
‘So I’m gonna do it.’
‘Do it. You seem to know how to do that, so do it.’
THIS YEAR, so far in online projects, things are moving in an interesting direction. A giant overarching theme has been coming into shape. People want to talk together share about really big things related to: love, loss, risk, and chance. I get that. It’s kind of a major attractor for me, this idea of leaping into uncertainty. So we talk together about family. Relationships. Life…. Quality. After testing things for a while, it seems clearer and easier, in some ways, that we can develop really great conversation spaces online. More on the way, for those who are connecting, about the next.
THIRTY YEARS AGO ON JUNE 23.
That’s when it happened.
The friend who ‘didn’t come back.’
What happened, why did it happen, what if it hadn’t happened?
These questions led to 30 years of running around the world “in search of meaning.”
Get it here now: