Elijah Vents....

Friday, 11 Dec 09. At the camp.

I have 77 percent of my battery life left, so I'll type a few words before retiring for the night. I'm out here in the woods again, dear people, sitting outside the tent. I'm actually quite warm. My fingers are even working well.

I had enough $ for a Senior Coffee—42 cents, actually. That's a real bargain, considering that'll get you three cups of coffee, not to mention a chance to be inside for awhile.

I keep hearing sounds, noises, and I'm getting a bit paranoid.

Talk to youse laters.


11:30 PM, and the paranoia has gone to whence it came. Inside the tent now and a pitter-patter of rain. Nothing serious. Just a very light little thingie.

But the paranoia brings up a point. Willie has asked me on several occasions if I feel safe out here, and I've always said yes. But that's not exactly true. More than anything I fear having the police walk up some night and write us all tickets.

Here's the deal. Smokie and KB and I are all criminals. That is to say, each time we enter into our tents, we are committing a crime. A misdemeanor, yes, but still a crime. And since the beds in the shelters are so horrific in the sense of our having to be around and deal with crackheads and drunks, it's just nicer, more civilized if you will, to sleep out here in the woods where they don't boot us out at six o'clock in the morning. Ya dig?

Besides that, there aren't nearly enough beds by some astronomical factor to house all of Austin's homeless population. 500 beds. Thousands of homeless. So...do the math. The Powers Dat Be have legislated criminal behavior. Rather than cutting down on crime, this legislation simply makes being homeless a criminal offense. Unless you're one of the rare few who can sleep sitting up on a public bench.

Not only that but they have legislated such that they can extract free labor from us. They call it “Community Service,” but it's really just another way to harass and hassle those who have no voice. The homeless. Those who, in one way or another, simply aren't equipped to handle the American Dream, and what it takes to maintain it.

I suspect that many of you who read this are having your own problems trying to keep pace with the increasingly elusive “American Dream.”

Alcohol and marijuana partaking are ubiquitous down here. Why? We have no television. I've not read a book since I hit the streets (aside from my time-outs). We can't change the bloody channel except—except with booze or smoke.

And so we smoke. Or drink. Or both. And somewhere in that dynamic, the channel gets changed. The street becomes a little less bleak. Although I drink very very little on the street, I do smoke. And that puts my head in a place where this entire scene is...bearable. It's my little thc-remote. I can switch from the outside world to an inside world, that fantastically rich landscape within my head, with just a few hits of the medicinal herb.

And of course it, too, is agin the law. Lawd have mercy! And if you're homeless, there are precious few places you can drink a beer without being in jeopardy of being hit with another misdemeanor.

This is just the way it is. I shrug it off, of course, but I have the luxury of going back inside. This may be my last week on the streets of South Austin. Don't know. But many of those I've met have nowhere to turn.

Get a job? It's hard enough to find a job when you're out of work but still have a roof over yr head, laundry facilities, and transportation. Down here the prospective employer wants an address...job history, and so forth. And identification, of course. But it takes ID to get ID. A catch-22, thanks to the paranoia of 9/11 and the immigration issues.

Okay, okay. Out of my system for the nonce.

Needed to say all this. Hope you'll bear with me through my rants.

Peace, aloha, and safe camping,

Elijah