Let’s start a commune

One without the weird sex stuff! I promise!

Well, with the world looking pretty wobbly at the moment, I think we can both agree that it’s time to start that commune I’ve been talking about.

Ever since I stayed at my friend’s bushland property in the central west of New South Wales, I’ve been very insistent on the idea.

I went there with a big group of people around New Year’s in 2025. The property is basic – on the grid, but barely. There’s a small house, more of a shack really, with a kitchen, a radio, a fireplace, and little else.

The days were slow in the bush.

When it was light outside and not too hot, we’d do inconsequential jobs. Weeding, wood chopping, and little repairs here and there. Then, in the evenings, we’d cook and eat dinner together.

In that week, the world shrank a lot. It felt amazing.

Don’t get me wrong, the exploding toilet geyser that’s global politics was still very active. But it all felt less urgent than, say, getting a big pile of sticks for kindling before it got dark.

It might be selfish, but I think we’d all do well to retract the net of our attention a little.

Thus the commune.

Me, born for the commune.

Now I know that communes have a bad reputation. For some reason they seem to devolve into weird sex cults pretty frequently. Or maybe those are just the ones we hear about in the news.

Either way, for the avoidance of doubt, I think we should make a commune that has all the good bits and none of the, well, unsavoury stuff.

Just a shared vision, reconnecting with nature, a little community, and maybe a nice garden we can all tend to. Strictly no pagan orgies or anything like that.

Unless… maybe… you want to do the weird sex stuff…?

No! No, me either. I was just checking. For a moment I thought you might be into it. I’m just making sure we’re all on the same page. We’re definitely just going to do the community stuff and the garden. We’ll only grow things like pumpkins, tomatoes and potatoes to be safe. Corn, cucumbers and zucchinis will be strictly out of the question. This will be a good, wholesome Christian garden!

But you’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself. There’s a lot to organise before we start the fraught task of deciding which vegetables are too phallic. First we’ll need to buy a property. One that’s big enough to house you, me, and about 200 of our sexiest friends.

Why do they need to be sexy?

Oh. Well, I guess they don’t have to be sexy. But if you were forced to stare at the same people, months on end, at a secluded property, wouldn’t you want them to be?

We use flowers to decorate our homes, not big steaming piles of garbage, right? And if we’re all sharing one big house, wouldn’t it be nice to have something to look at? Especially if we’re all going to be sleeping in the same room?

What?

You can’t seriously expect me to build more than one room, can you? Look at me. I’m a writer with soft hands. You’ll be lucky if you get any shelter, if I’m being honest.

Let’s hope one of your sexy friends will be good at building stuff. None of mine are any use. They all work in offices or (even worse) the arts. The best thing they can make is a committee — just don’t expect any decisions.

Yes, one big room is just easier and more practical. It makes sense if you think about it. But don’t try to think about it too much. That’s not what the commune is about, you know? We’re all about going with the flow. Seeing how things end up. Letting go of our inhibitions.

Just you, me, and 200 of our sexiest friends in a remote location living in one big room, eating non-phallic vegetables we’ve grown.

It can’t be worse than things here.