A Living Magazine - Day 145 - There's Still Nobody Home

I woke, knowing I'd have to move quickly to get downtown and check in to the Marriott Courtyard Hotel (an extremely timely and generous gift, courtesy of my friends from Livermore California) as soon as possible. I packed up and was on my way within a half hour of that thought.

I passed lots of billboards along the way downtown. Most of the time I see them as eyesores, but not the following one. My new friend, Rusty--two days before, had told me about a recent road rage incident, where a 22 year old shot a former veteran who "...scared..." him by walking to his car.

Is there any reason why a gun should be the first resort for this kind of situation? Well, yes, maybe, if we go by the constant stories in the paranoia-producing mass media, the glorification of violence in general as a way to solve problems, and the idiotic notion that everyone needs a gun to "protect" themselves.

I'm not anti-gun. Things are not problems. People are problems. So, call me anti-ignorant-unthinking-hairtrigger-assholes...

Good. At least it's SOMETHING.

I arrived at the Marriott and check in was a breeze. They didn't have the king size room ready but offered a double that was all set to go. It was only 9:00 am, and check out wasn't until 12:00 pm the next day, leaving 27 hours for me to wash up, wash my clothes publish the day's post, organize the backpack and wipe down the tent. Not bad!...

I love that I can have an office anywhere there is Wi-fi.

And this was an especially nice office.

I did a serious beard trim and even - gasp! - cut three inches off my hair!

Lean and clean!

Whenever I do these reorganizations, I think of that scene in Pink Floyd's The Wall

when he is laying out all of his items so carefully on the floor...

And, I think of this song...

NOBODY HOME
Words and Music by Roger Waters

I've got a little black book with my poems in.
Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in.
When I'm a good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in.

I got elastic bands keepin my shoes on.
Got those swollen hand blues.
Got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from.
I've got electric light.
And I've got second sight.
And amazing powers of observation.
And that is how I know
When I try to get through 
On the telephone to you
There'll be nobody home.

I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm.
And the inevitable pinhole burns
All down the front of my favorite satin shirt.
I've got nicotine stains on my fingers.
I've got a silver spoon on a chain.
I've got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains.

I've got wild staring eyes.
And I've got a strong urge to fly.
But I got nowhere to fly to. 
Ooooh, Babe when I pick up the phone

There's still nobody home.

I've got a pair of Gohills boots
and I got fading roots...

I'd been meaning to take some shots of a backpack design that I will develop at some point, based on what I've learned works and doesn't work, while out here on the road. So here they are. Please don't steal this idea. Ha!...

I was able to get all that I'd planned done, except for the tent wipe-down. I just ran out of energy. The soft bed was calling. But, before I brushed my teeth and climbed up on to it, I had the most strange sensation. It was a feeling of doom and anxiety. It hit me suddenly, and without warning.

I admit to experiencing a mild crash after all that had gone right lately, but I don't think that was the origin of this sensation. I had the urge to go outside and just pace on the street, in the same way I will climb out of my tent at a sleep spot and pace, thinking. I did just that.

While outside, I think I figured out from where this odd emotion had come. I'd had the TV on all day, turned down low, while I worked, watching the Food channel and National Geographic channel. They are all I can handle of TV. But, in this case, the summation of their constant commercials about the same old plastic crap, prescription medication warnings and "talk to your doctor" bullshit, ambulance chasing blood-sucking lawyers, etc. had temporarily poisoned my usually-sharp mind. Only having the shit box off, could I regather my thoughts, and detox from the mass-media puke fest.

I don't want to piss people off (no more than usual, anyway), but, seriously, how the hell can you people who sit there in a larval state, ladling this detritus into your once-innocent minds, put up with commercial TV?

Is there any wonder why our culture is so exclusively consumer-driven, brainwashed, septic, thing-fetishized, stupid, fat, drugged, violent, lazy, wasteful, deluded, ignorant, unhealthy, in debt, utterly separated from reality, nature and our own ability to even locate an inner world, well... just generally INSANE? On the elevator ride back up to the fourth floor, I despaired...

How will we change, when we don't want to leave that ass-indent in the stained, patched, duct-taped sofa of our complacent, blinded human existences? It saddens me that now that American crap-culture, instead of our truly rich culture, is being broadcast around the world 24/7/365.5, and the developing countries are longing for salad shooters, plastic Wal-Mart totes, three car garages, man-toys (jet skis, boats, extra cars, etc.), 4,000 square foot McMansions, thousand dollar handbags, each of the drive-through fast food restaurants on every single street, Viagra, pink AR-15's, and store-bought designer pets.

Again, I will ask: Why doesn't this make your blood boil? Why don't you rail against it? Are you THAT lost? Do you accept these piss-puddle standards for your life, the lives of your children, grandchildren, best friends and the world in general?

Sometimes, I just lose hope, when I see the size of the aircraft carrier that I'm trying to turn around with kayak paddle. Other people are trying too, of course. Where do you come down on this? Why are you, the reader, so afraid to comment on how disastrous all of this is to the planet and your own soul?

You know what? I WANT to piss you off, if you defend the things I just described above. I want to provoke you. I want to slap you as hard as I can, if you buy into one single shred of this dissolution of human cultural rationality!

I didn't sleep very well. As much of a blessing as this night should have been--was meant to be, I found myself longing for the sound of crickets, the crunch of leaves under me, the cool damp air of the forest, the lights of buildings far away in the distance, and the fresh smell of things Done Right, by Mother Nature.

What is happening to me? Have I "gone native" as it were, or more specifically "gone non-human"? I don't get lonely. But, I do long for anyone at all who will express that they feel the same way I do about these things. I think it would be courageous of another person to stand up and be counted along with an idealistic fool like me.

Even with the special treatment of the hotel workers toward me --- where they would have thrown me out of the place, had I not a room and instead, come in to warm up in the lobby on this cold night, with my grungy clothes on and my sagging, ripped, dirty, taped-up backpack, faded, sunbleached, sweaty, salt-saturated hat --- the feather-soft bed, in the perfectly temperature-controlled environment, with a sparkling bathroom five feet away, with a hot meal in my tummy, and "thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from," when I pick up the phone (e.g. write this blog)............ "There's still nobody home."