Immediately, came that "down" feeling I'd started to experience the night before. I was stuck in another town for days on end, unable to contact my boot person, Allyson. In the last month I'd spent 17 days languishing; waiting for boots.
This thought of stagnation and lack of progress would set the tone for the day. I put my now-stinking and disintegrating sneakers back on, stuffed my now-stinking sleeping back in the pack, and tried to wipe down my now-stinking body. I folded up the dirty tarp and shoved it into the pack, behind the dirty clothes. For a moment, I just stared at the pack, with its sticky stains and ripping straps...
I both loved and despised this heavy chunk of soiled necessities. It looked pathetic, as if it wanted an early retirement. Understand, there have been no moments in 32 days that it is not with me, or riding on my back. It is a burden and also an absolute necessity.
It almost looked as old as me, but not quite. The typically negative loops began to do their thing, twisting through mind. The naysayers, the people who wanted me to stop this project, the people who called me "crazy", the people who "gave" with the conscious decision to then extract something out of me or influence my plans, sat around in my head enjoying the comfort of their bedrooms and kitchens, pointing and shaking their heads. I knew how to dismiss them, but I also knew they would remain there until I finally do succeed.
Even though I had the uneasy and unsatisfied feeling borne out of not being able to just move on, I was not able to resits some beautiful or interesting images, as I walked down town to the library...
Here comes the sun.
I'd seen this animal hospital many times, and had meant to photograph the wall art. Having bought new batteries for my camera, I finally got my chance...
And, there is always another bear...
Barry Potter.
Dew drops.
On the library lawn.
A large June beetle on the sidewalk, warming in the sun.
When I realize I still had time to kill, I did more exploring...
Painted bears 1.
Painted bears 2.
Then it was back to the library...
Painted library bear, and with details...
I went outside and then came back inside, over and over, but was completely unmotivated. I found myself, irritated, jaded, bordering on anger, obsessing on every aspect of negativity passing through me. I simply couldn't help it. The only way out of it was by writing. Here is what I came up with...
* * * * * * *
Someone recently accused me of trying to be an ascetic. This is probably the biggest insult of all. If readers out there think that I'm posing as a wandering, self-assigned holy man, who wants to be seen sleeping on dirt, eating trash, willfully wearing myself out, groveling for dollars, I would encourage them to abandon their readership here. I don't need them, and god-knows they don't need me, except maybe to make themselves feel as though they have it "all together", by contrast.
Given the chance - if reliably compensated for the work I'm doing, like other people are when they do comparable work - I would buy a room once a week, eat two meals a day instead of one, take buses and trains for the long distances between cities, and have the equipment and stuff I actually need (a G4 data plan and phone, tent, big-boy hiking boots, the blood pressure medicine I should be taking, good glasses, and at least $10 a day for fluids, etc.). It is only because I no longer expect any of these things to happen, that I am usually satisfied with what I have--junk with just enough value to it to barely survive. All of this is the price I'm paying for not playing the American Game. I deserve exactly what I have.
But, I'm just like anyone else who has enjoyed a middle class lifestyle. I miss the not-so extravagant ability to sleep in a bed, use a bathroom and shower when I need to, buy and store food, cook my own meals, wear something different each day, etc.
I TRIED as hard as I could to promote and fund this project in the months leading up to my departure from Livermore. Going against the grain, swimming against the tide, climbing up against the planet's gravity is not for the unorganized. I think someday there will be more appreciation for those who chose not to play anymore at this time in history.
I had some great PM conversations about these things with my new friend, Joe Omundson, a couple days ago. He is kicking ass, hiking the Pacific Crest Trail--and just hit 2,000 miles as I write this post! I have to admit, I'm very impressed by him. He understands the concept of A Living Magazine. He is smart to be leaving the American Game at a much younger age. He is smart and expresses himself very well, anyway. Hopefully, he will avoid all the crap I had to watch crush my dreams and expectations when I was his age. Look for him in coming years to be among the vanguard of a new generation who isn't buying into the festering, debt-based, thing-fetishizing, logo worshipping, consumerist, war-making, crude oil fuel-injected, unnatural, prejudicial, creativity-destroying, guilt-producing, politically polarizing, 1950's left-over, rusting and environmentally blind rules shoved down my generation's throat.
The hyper-conventionalists who spend most of their free time re-duct-taping this flimsy house of cards together - the ones who drive exclusively using the rear view mirror - will NEVER understand what is happening right now. Their fingers press down upon the graying, dying wrist of a falsely-constructed culture, desperate to find a pulse. They are the ones who dog my efforts, and they will dog Joe's as well. But eventually they WILL fail.
A new future is being developed by those who actually stood in line when the brains were being handed out. At some point, most sincere, thinking and caring adults realize they have been bent over the bed board by political and "cultural" leaders who see their only value as being proportionate to how well they have conformed to the insanity of materialism and corporate prostitution. THEN, they have a choice: wrap that tourniquet tightly, and ingest the putrid, dust-mite infested heroin of "that's just the way it is," or throw it away, and begin to think for themselves.
There are ways to throw away the rules of the American Game and still work within the system to turn it all inside out. You need not buy a backpack at Goodwill, accept sleeping in ditches, be treated like a mangy animal by the stuff-blinded, raid trash cans for food and aluminum cans, go without driving a car, etc., like I have. You just need to be willing to give up some of your shiny things. The world's resources will never allow every hard-working person to stuff their lives with recreational toys they never use, four car garages--with a vehicle in each bay, 6,000 foot McMansions, refrigerators full of uneaten food, and/or vacations to exotic places.
Capitalism is hostile to TRUE free enterprise, because free enterprise disallows unfettered monopoly-building, government subsidies and tax breaks--like those found hemorrhaging out of social programs and into big armies, big oil, big pharma and big retail, in exchange for the hallowed mission of employing the masses of "little people", at wages they cannot survive on. The myth is that, if you don't have enough to play with the other kids, you just aren't "working" hard.
No. The way to change yourself while staying within the system, is to first, unplug from the matrix of profit-driven, greed-soaked lenders, and then never borrow a cent again. While I can appreciate the "LOL" out there at such a proposal, it can be done. Next recycle all the crap you store and have forgotten about. Give it away, sell it...whatever. Then live more simply. Most people don't need three square meals a day. THAT is a government-driven philosophy, invented to support the food industry. It makes people fat, lazy and diseased. There will never be a need to make more money, if you make it your financial goal in life to spend less money. Those already in the gnashing teeth of bank debt may find it extraordinarily difficult to give up the American Game. I'm sorry to say, but, aside from declaring bankruptcy, or simply defaulting, they gottcha.
Two terms I despise the most: "Lift yourself up by your bootstraps," and "I'm just giving tough love." The former is asking someone to do the impossible. It is stupid, unrealistic and insulting to all that is logical. The latter, "tough love," is a euphemism for EASY HATE. It is the way that the haves can express power over the trying-to-haves, by patronizingly dangling a stick in their faces and calling it a "carrot." Give, or don't give! But don't tease and belittle. We are all human beings and we all deserve the individual dignity of personal respect.
This may be a rant, but it isn't just about "heartless conservatives." The self-satisfied, and inbred "liberals" can be just as destructive to simple living. While I may often be inclined toward their progressive ideals, I'm completely phobic about their politics and methods. They are HALF of the problem in this country. Over-legislation, forced social policies, snobby intellectualism, heavily imposed "politically correct" educational reforms, and half-hearted and sometimes-disingenuous attempts to "rescue" those who are in need--in order to make themselves smell morally fragrant, keeps the people sucking on the teet of the American Game, just as surely as the folks standing to their right. Both sides only benefit from dividing the nation and disallowing each other the ability to actually HELP the people they supposedly serve. Nothing gets done, unless it is done with a heavy hand.
Social programs are derisively labeled "entitlements", when the TRUE entitlements are possessed only by the leaders who have no other goal but to stay in power and keep the entire feast rotting on the table, while the beggars beg, and the workers work, just for moldy bits of falling crumbs.
Many of the folks who have been most supportive of this very blog, and my projects in general, are politically right-leaning. I have found that the left side can be stingier and less willing to get involved, despite my own willingness to stand behind some of the things they supposedly represent. I try to stay away from politics here, because the very mention of certain issues is met by the instant effect of learned polarization. The idiocy and robotic tendency of unthinking people to immediately grab all the policies of whatever political platform their dear leaders are stockpiling up around themselves, is the negative side effect of the anti-individualism that is demanded from American citizens.
There are positive aspects to all philosophies. But these are precluded by the infection of ideology; ALL ideology. It is a poison to individual human happiness. It gives the weak-minded an excuse not to strengthen those minds and the ambitious-minded a means by which to see their own influence over other people.
What all of this boils down to, in my case, is a last resort burst of energy--the IWALLK journeys.
I was told in 2006 that if I survived the first year after my heart attack (there was a 19% chance I would not), I had 15 years of good life left, before the problems would reappear. I certainly plan to defy this prediction, but there is now no reason not to actually live during those years, rather than to spend my time getting ready to die. I haven't got a whole hell of a lot to lose now.
Living this ascetic-appearing lifestyle, while never accepting it as my final goal, is the choice I made when I realized just how twisted my once bright and creative young mind had become, by listening to the parroted ideologies of other people. After a childhood of manipulative psychological abuse, an education that attempted to stamp the independence out of me, and a series of "jobs" that compromised my moral fortitude, there was only one road to take: THE road.
* * * * * * *
After finishing the above diatribe, I still felt awful. At least I had some content for the next day's post, but I was now really clawing at the walls of my discontent and disaffection.
I made my way back toward the chain and box store side of town, where I simply sat on a curb, by an electrical box, and watched the cars go by. The heat was not as oppressive on this day, and a cool breeze swirled around me. I was there for a long time, maybe 3 hours.
By the time the sun was setting, I just wanted a drink and prayed for nightfall. Swinging the original symbol of my frustration back over my shoulder, I slowly walked to Taco Bell, where I knew I could charge my laptop and finish my long-delayed daily post. I stood in line for 10 minutes while the cashier flirted with two guys in front of me. When they were finally done, I stood directly in front of her. She looked at me and the guy behind me, and then asked HIM if he was ready to order. I was incensed.
I interrupted his answer and said, "*I* am ready to order. I've waited for ten minutes in line." The manager, who seemed to be doing everyone else's job as they socialized and fiddled with their iPhones, immediately signed into the other register, apologizing profusely. I told her I was thirsty and only wanted a small drink.
She looked embarrassed and offered to give it to me for free. But I insisted on paying for it. When I sat down and hauled out the laptop to work, she came by and described different menu items that she wanted to give me to ease my discomfiture. She was very sweet, and obviously a good manager. I told her I'd just eaten (which I hadn't--only having a couple snacks over by the library). The only thing I wanted to get across was that I didn't appreciate feeling invisible. She said she understood and that's why she wanted to make it up to me. I told her that her understanding was enough. We smiled at each other and I got to work on my post.
When darkness fell, I packed up and went outside to catch the fading glow in the sky. A flock of starlings undulated and transformed itself into shapes, as if it were a living piece of art. I was mindful enough to catch a video of it...
Relief ultimately came when I could get back up to my grassy hill by the freeway and sit down on the old tarp and smelly sleeping bag. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind. It worked, mercifully. And, I was compelled by shear mental exhaustion, to simply tip over and slip into unconsciousness.
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