The Homeless Aloha Vision Quest

Return to Austin

2010-02-13T10:18:00.000-06:00

Lift Cafe, 10 AM.

The next table over a group of Christians are talking about the stewardship of money. Interesting.

We broke camp this morning, Smokie and KB coming back from 6th Street around 5 AM. I was toasty, for a change, and didn't want to get up but they knocked at the door, came in, and it was time.

Sometime yesterday the cops came to the camp and let an official notification that it's time to move on.

Small wonder. When I came back just before midnight Wednesday, I could see the tents from the trail. Ahhh. Not even trying to stay out of sight anymore. Closer I could see a pile of rubbish over by where I used to camp. Another guy. Starting to look like a village with no garbage removal service.

So I said...if I were you, I'd take these down. They're gonna bring the heat.

They agreed that's what they should do, and were planning to do it, but then the cops came. No one was there, so that was to the good.

And I was planning to move today anyway.

Yesterday I went out to Wal-mart (loooong ride) and got a new tarp, a little cook kit, and a few other odds and ends. 40' of yellow polyester cord (barely enough) to pitch the tarp. The tent was shredded by a vandal not too long after I went away for the holidays. Smokie emailed me bout that.

The first few days are always about getting back into a groove, finding the way things are flowing this time around. And this is especially so this time. I don't know which way the new campsite lies, but have faith it will be revealed.

This begins in a minimalist way. No tent, cold weather. The Kids gave me a huge blanket which when doubled fits over Charlie's sleeping bag nicely. It takes awhile but eventually I become warm, then toasty.

I'm thinking to sleep on the closed-cell foam pad (Wal-mart), with the poncho beneath that as a ground cloth. Use the 8 x 10 tarp as additional ground cloth, cover up. If it looks like rain, I can string a line between a couple of trees and make a little shelter.

Ahhhh. Perfection. That's how it will go. Quick to set up, quick to tear down. Minimally invasive. Pick up whatever rubbish is lying around, clean the site. Honor and respect it. Leave as light a footprint as possible.

I'll miss having the Kids--Smokie and KB--around, but it's probably better this way. They just do not like tearing the tent down every morning, so they don't. It stays up until they're told to move on. And then they go to the next place.

It's just that there aren't that many places around here. A long bus ride will take you out to better, safer places, but that means having a bus pass.

What would really help out would be little storage spaces for your gear. Something big enough to hold tent and sleeping bag, pad, etc. So you could move through the day unencumbered by gear. I wonder if Willie would let me get one of those big garbage cans on wheels. Drill a hole through the lid. Padlock it.

It would be an elegant solution.

It's difficult not to overstay one's welcome. I was welcomed back with open arms and effusive hugs, but I am very aware that there is a point where things become uncomfortable. I'm not a paying customer, although I do help out now and then as chance and circumstance permit.

Need to stop in at Bicycle Sport Shop and say hello to Kris and Jason.

The beat goes on.

Stay warm, stay dry, stay safe.

Elijah

Learning something basic: How to link

2010-02-05T14:49:00.001-06:00

I have never linked to anything in my entire online life. So here I go with a first attempt. This was interesting:

Let's see if it works.

Yep. When I click on the underlined word above, it takes me to Lifehackers. And that's a really interesting site.

Two Kokuas

2010-02-02T00:12:00.001-06:00

I've written about Kris before, but he's been popping up in my head lately and just today his wife "Sam" left a comment on the last post.

So I took that as a sign from the Universe to get off my okole and write.

Thanks, Sam, for bringing the message. I really look forward to seeing you when I return to Austin.

Kris is an amazing guy, in this old man's opinion. He's doing work that he loves and it shows. He's able to bring so much aloha to his work that it's not so much work anymore as it's...a calling.

Yes, a calling.

How many of us can say that about our jobs?

He's the kind of guy that just brings a smile to your face when you see him because...heck, I don't know the answer to that other than to say he seems to live in a kind of sacred space I like to call "Aloha."

He's my friend, you see. And you know what? I don't know if he chose me or if I chose him. All I know is that from our very first meeting he was just...incredible.

So...Kris, would you mind sending me your email addy? Just send to jean.deaux@yahoo.com

It'll save the old man a stamp.

And below, here, is Jason, another fantastic guy from Bicycle Sport Shop in Austin. He and Kris are co-workers, and the two of them have been incredible gifts to me. Been thinking a lot about Jason lately, too. Between the two of them there's not a whole lot about bicycles they don't know. So I feel more than fortunate to count them as being in my corner. I look forward to seeing both of them in the not too distant future. Peace and aloha...E.

How NOT To Write A Blog

2010-01-29T23:34:00.008-06:00

.

"The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over."

--Hunter S. Thompson

I've learned a thing or three about blogging in the past few months.

Mostly what NOT to do.

Right now I'm about 99% sure hardly anyone is tuning into this thing. If that's not bad enough what's even worse is...IT'S ALL MY FAULT!

How many things did I do wrong? Let me count the ways:

1. The title of the blog was just toooo long. Counting the "dots," it's nine words long. That's two or three too many. How is someone supposed to remember all that? And the words don't flow, there's no real rhythm to them.

2. I didn't have business cards printed up with the blog address on them. When people would ask for the address, I had to hunt around for a piece of paper, borrow a pen--totally professional, eh?

3. Didn't blog on a daily basis. Now this one wasn't so bad when I was there in Austin, as I *did* write fairly frequently. But since I've come to Houston, I've really let things slip and the readership has gone right out the window. Again, all my fault.

4. I didn't engage the reader enough. I failed to really ask for comments, feedback, or questions. Instead, it was all about me. Bad move, Elijah.

5. It took me forever to learn how to add a photograph to the blog, and then even longer to learn how to add *multiple* photographs. And a photograph really does add something special to the post.

6. I didn't know how to do RSS feeds (still don't, truth to tell) and so I'm unable to give guidance to newbies as to how to follow me with a minimum of effort.

That's half a dozen right there and I think I'd better stop before I jump out of yonder window.

The good news is: I plan to start another blog when I return to Austin. One with a much shorter, catchier title, one that's easy to remember. And by then I hope to have some of the technical aspects worked out. Possibly even moving to a web-hosted site. I might even sell t-shirts.

Oh, and while I'm at it: I'm really getting intrigued by the notion of writing and publishing my own ebook. Kinda spooky, but it's something I think I can do. Realistically, rather than that fiasco of a Long Ride that was just too much for me.

So...stay tuned. The Old Man ain't done yet. The Fat Lady may be clearing her throat, but she's yet to warble a note. So there's still time.

Thanks. A bunch.

For what it's worth, you guys are my very first blog audience. And you've been terrific for all my faults and flaws.

And before I go? Gimme a comment or three just to let me know you're out there, whatcha say? I'm studying my bony old bum off, trying to get this thing down. The old dawg learning new tricks. And you know what? I'm enjoying the heck out of it.

Following my bliss, you see. Just like you.

Peace and aloha,

Elijah

Alyssa Recovering

2010-01-27T11:45:00.000-06:00

Here we have our precious Alyssa, amazing little fighter for truth, justice, the American Way, and been-around-the-block, ordeal-sharing, comfort-giving stuffed animals.

After the ordeal she went through, it's nice to see those rosy cheeks, eh?

It was touch-and-go there for awhile. The doctors kept her in hospital for about a week, then sent her home with daily visits from Nurse Ratched. Alyssa's lungs are in top condition as anyone two or three blocks away can easily verify from the volume of her protests re aforementioned Nurse R.

MLB, myself, and a number of others went over to Alyssa's house and spent hour upon hour disinfecting, scrubbing, and so forth. She's still quite vulnerable to infection, you see.

So this is our Sweetie. You are cordially invited to send good vibes her way, prayers (if you're the praying sort--I am!) or just...keep her in your thoughts.

Thanks for being there for me and Madame LaBelle. It has been a trial for all of us, but we're muddling through as best we can. It does help knowing that we have an entire tribe, 'ohana, of friends and acquaintances who care.

Feel free to share with the group any stories you may have from your own personal histories. You are, after all, my brothers and sisters.

We will relay all "get well" wishes to Alyssa. She'll listen ever so intently (that's how she rolls) and then flash that wall-to-wall smile of hers.

Peace,

Elijah

Almost Lost Our Granddaughter

2010-01-26T21:42:00.002-06:00

.

It's been a rough couple of weeks.

Our little granddaughter, Alyssa, came down with an ear infection that spiraled out of control with the infection eating through the bone and into her skull. This was life-threatening, and Madame LaBelle quite literally saved Alyssa's life by insisting in no uncertain terms that she be taken to the emergency room NOW.

Another few hours and it could well have been too late.

As it is, Alyssa is home with a tube in her arm, being visited daily by a nurse who administers powerful antibiotics. Our little sweetheart is wearing a plastic cup-like device which protects the ear from the outside environment. A real little trouper.

Then...MLB lost her job because of time taken off to be with Alyssa. So it's touch and go here as we struggle with an economic crisis which much of America is also experiencing.

So I've been reading marketing books like mad, taking notes, and dreaming dreams. What can we do RIGHT NOW to get things moving again? The wolf of the unpaid mortgage gnaws at the door and he ain't wagging his tail.

And then...the transmission went out in the car. $2,000 right there. One more crisis. Jeez...they just keep coming.

Shakespeare wrote that "...when sorrows come they come not as single spies,but as battalions." Words to that effect. And we're learning the truth of that.

So...here's an apology to those of you who check in now and then to see if the old Aloha Monk has written anything of late, only to discover he hadn't.

We're down but not out.

I think of all of you numerous times throughout the day. You're in my heart, and I look forward to seeing you all in March when I plan to be back in Austin, coming ahead of MLB to scout out the territory.

Anyone have any ideas, suggestions, words of advice or encouragement? We'd love to hear them.

Peace, aloha, and perserverance.

Elijah

2010-01-11T13:34:00.000-06:00

It's the 11th day of the new year, and I've been back in Houston just over three weeks. Feels like much longer than that. I've had some time to reflect on the Vision Quest, what it meant and what I was meant to learn from it.

Mostly it seems that I was meant to reconnect with people. For so long I've been the solitary type, introverted and introspective to an incredible degree, almost always out on the fringes watching and observing.

The Vision Quest changed all that, at least temporarily. Here are some people who touched my life and reconnected me to the Spirit of Aloha.

Kaitlin on the left, Smokie on the right. I think of them as “my Kids.” Smokie was the one who got my little netbook working again. For those of you who have followed this blog, you'll recall my little netbook had the Virus-From-Hell, and I didn't have a clue as to how to get the little bugger out.

Smokie worked on it and finally was able to install the Ubuntu operating system for netbooks. It's made a world of difference. I was able to get back online and do some things that really needed to be done.

They're also very much into fighting the “New World Order.” In fact, they intentionally moved to Austin so they could be close to Alex Jones, the fella with the radio talk show. They are passionate and committed. Although they are regarded as part of a fringe movement, I place no judgments. I find a lot of what they have to say that makes perfect sense. At the same time, I don't necessarily accept it all. In fact, I don't.

Still...two very special people.

Thanks, Kids.

This is John Voss, the incomparable manager of Lift. He's probably the first I met there at Lift, and certainly one of Life's Good Guys.

John is mugging for the camera. If he'd known I was going to upload the photograph, he'd probably have held his mug a little differently.

Uber-handsome guy when he's not in Imp-mode. Smile. John...you rock.

Now comes Willie Scott, the owner of Lift Cafe. Willie was a huge manifestation of Aloha, and I count him as a mentor and friend. He was there for me when I needed him, and I hope to be there for him when he needs me.;

(This has been an experiment in learning how to import/export things from my word processor directly to my blog. If this publishes, it will be a success. I just spent half an hour learning how to rotate Willie's picture from horizontal to vertical.)

Peace,

Elijah

Poem: On Our Camp Being Vandalized

2009-12-31T19:06:00.000-06:00

So you came when we were gone,
Slashed the Old Man's tent,
Collapsed ours,
And left misspelled signs
And cried out "Thief Camp."
Thief? Thieves?
All we have is given or found
Or gifted.
We steal from no one,
But you?
You stole our peace
Our place of rest
Our spot of refuge
And trashed it as a vandal
Destroying something wonderful, beautiful.
We have no voice,
No hero to bruit our cause
No redress.
Nothing left but to bind up
What wounds can be bound.
Nothing, nothing left
But to fold the butchered tent
And silently steal away,
Bereft.

Smokie and KB's camp trashed

2009-12-31T11:54:00.000-06:00

Got an email from Smokie saying that their camp had been vandalized. I'd left my little tent with them and it, too, was slashed and torn.

How very sad.

So they've moved once again, seeking some place where they can sleep in peace and leave their belongings in relative safety.

The only way I know to do that is *not* to leave anything behind when you leave for the day, which means living and moving so lightly that it will all go on the bicycle. The problem with this approach is that it advertises to the world that you're homeless.

The other option is to have a place to stash your belongings that is safe. Hard to find such a place. There are "Bush Beaters" who systematically beat the bushes looking for stashed belongings. The Homeless stealing from the Homeless.

For any of you with a creative and inventive streak, give some thought to creating/inventing a simple little stash device. I'm thinking...a fake boulder, log, etc. that's hollow and can pass muster lying there in the undergrowth. Hmmm.

Of course the Homeless don't have the money to buy such a device, so perhaps something cheap, made of things commonly found in a dumpster?

*****

It's the last day of the decade, and MLBelle is resigning her job to take on another. She's quite the lady, an ongoing inspiration to me.

From both of us to all of you...Best Wishes for this coming year and decade!

I've lost Jamie's email addy. Anyone can help me out? You can write to me via jean.deaux@yahoo.com should you feel so inclined.

Peace and a world of aloha,

Elijah

Coming Up For Air

2009-12-28T16:55:00.000-06:00

Christmas has come and gone once again, so only the New Year lies ahead of us as that time of...what? Obligatory drunkenness? I'll try to skip that part again this year. A couple of beers, maybe.

I've been back a little over a week and yet it seems like so much longer. Each day I take our dog,Chomper, out for a walk. I make the bed and putter around the house. We've had houseguests for days now who just left early this morning for Denver. The world whirls and slows, grinding gears as it moves back to normal.

I'm reading again. All that time on the street I didn't read a single book--and I'm a major reader. Rereading Malcolm Gladwell's *The Tipping Point.* Keep hoping I'll come up with something Willie can use there at Lift Cafe.

Speaking of which, I am just so grateful to so many of you who reached out your hands to me. Jason and Kris made sure I got the bike on the bus. Still haven't reassembled it, but that's on the to-do list coming up. And Willie, John, Meagan, et al were all so wonderfully generous and compassionate.

I'm at a bit of loose ends, not quite knowing what to do with myself. Of course I already miss Austin and all of you. Don't miss those cold and rainy days, but soon enough the leaves will begin to bud and Austin will begin to sing softly to me. Yeah...I'll be back.

Madame LaBelle is working her magic, putting things together so we can move back together. I may come ahead of her, but she'll be along not long after.

So...all is well.

I've been sleeping a lot, eating, watching classic films. Went and saw *Avatar* the other night. Incredible special effects. The audience actually broke into spontaneous applause at the end--and how long has it been since we've witnessed something like that??

I think of all of you often. And here's wishing all of you the happiest of New Years. We're beginning a new decade--probably my last here on the planet--so I'm planning for it to be the very best of all.

Miss y'all. Luvyas.

Peace from inside,

Elijah

Cleaning Up Camp...

2009-12-13T19:44:00.001-06:00

The kids made $38 last night. One guy walked up and gave KB $28 folded up, so that just the ones were showing. KB thought it was all ones, and by the time she realized, the guy had melted into the crowd. An anonymous giver, the kind Jesus said was the most...appropriate. It's an interesting verse, come to think of it, bc Jesus sez that we can actually become...well, empowered by that.

Interesting.

It's Sunday afternoon here at JackInTheBox and, hey, unlike McDonald's, Jack has plug-ins. I can type here w/o running the battery down. Niiiice. Smokie and KB are off to Wal-mart. Smokie wants a 2 gig memory card for his blackberry. Then he can download entire movies and watch them from his cell.

I find it fascinating how plugged-in some of us are. The Kids have MP3 players, both, and there's talk of giving me one of them, now that the phone's working out. I think...having 100 of my favorite songs? How kewl would that be! Wake up with Jimmy Cliff doing his, “I can see clearly now/The rain is gone.” Yeah. Some songs are so amazingly prayerful and perfect for the occasion.

“We don't need no education....”

Another few generations of electronics, computers, cells and even the bums will all be connected. As it is, many hang out in the libraries and hide out in the innards of the web. Not the same world I was born into, grew up in. Didn't see my first tv until I was eight. Holy Moly.

Isn't it a gorgeous Sunday? Mmmmmmm. Temp is just perfect, nice sunlight after that gang of gloomies that were hanging out all surly on the corner of Austin's sky for most of the preceeding week.
I be digging it.

And a shout-out to blog-follower Loren/Lorrin/Lorin (however ya spell it, my brother). He was an Angel of Aloha to the old StreetMonk today. Many mahalos, L.

I came back to camp earlier this afternoon only to find their sleeping bags spread out in the sun with such a gaggle of clothing and odds and ends spread out in front of their tent that it looked like a somewhat chaotic yard sale. Jeez! All that STUFF in one little Wal-mart tent?

Yup.

KB was busy folding clothing, sweeping out the tent, and crying on my shoulder. Apparently they got into a little contretemps with Wes, the manager of McDonald's. (I've written about him before here on the blog.) KB felt she was shorted on her fries and got into an argument with Wes about it, and apparently Smokie jumped in and...well...you know how these things go.

I'm wondering if they'll still be welcome over there.

Thing is, Wes is really a very decent guy in my opinion. He puts up with a lot from the street people, and I've never seen him hassle anyone.

And KB is adamant that she was right, in the right.

“Being right is the booby prize,” I told her.
“Huh?”

“It's the effing booby prize. When ya let the other guy be right, you get to take home the prize. And the prize is personal power over the tyranny of the ego.”

“You're right,” she said. Wicked gleam in her eye.

I'm more of the travel as lightly as ya can. Don't get me wrong: there are certain things that are nearly essential here on the street. A bed of some kind. Shelter from the rain. Suitable clothing to ward off the cold. Transportation. A hustle.

One of the things I plan to do during my sabbatical in Houston is to learn a couple or three hustles. I'm thinking...twisted balloon toys. Tarot reading. Wire sculptures. Tin can art.

Stuff that doesn't require a whole lot of inventory. Or take up much space.

Space is at a premium here on the street. We've all seen streeters pushing around shopping carts stuffed to the gills with...STUFF. And that's what most of it is...just stuff.

Functional is good. Light functional is better.

You don't want so much stuff that it's like wearing a neon sign that sez, “Street Bum” nor do you want so little your quality of life is overly impacted.

It's striking a balance. My plans are to get a Hennesy Hammock, which comes with mosquito netting and rainfly. Can sleep flat on this model and it's super comfy, according to the rave reviews I've been reading.

And it's super-compact, leaves no footprint. You set it up, sleep, take it down and move on. There is no obvious sign that you've been there. And it'll fit in a pannier on the rear of the bike. For less than $150 I can sleep in luxury—all things considered.

If I ever had to spend another winter on the streets, I would want a down bag conservatively rated down to freezing. Again, super-functional and stuffs into a smallish stuff sack. Fits in the pannier with the hammock, with room to spare.

A backpacker stove which runs on anything. Regular gasoline works for me. A bottle specifically designed to hold flammable liquids. Off and running. Nice super-strong instant coffee in the morning whilst shaking the cobwebs from the old eyes. Yeah, now we're talking.

Ripstop nylon poncho, extra long to go over a backpack. Super-functional, super compact. See?

The list goes on and on. And I am making a list, btw, checking it twice. Seein' which be naughty (heavy, bulky), which be nice.

Now here's a compromise: I gotta have a chair. Gotta have some kinda chair which can support my back a bit. Once again, Wal-mart to the rescue. There's a kid chair which sits low to the ground, is relatively light considering the comfort it brings, and folds up into a stuff sack. Gets my vote.

It's not the easiest thing to sit cross-legged in the tent, trying to write a blog update. Back starts hurting and first thing ya know it's...awww, do this later. Dig?

So gotta have the little chair.

It's 4:30 and the food truck is scheduled for the Mary Lee Foundation, which is half a mile up the hill. Notice I said UP. Hate that ride up, but it's a breeze coming down.

So...enough for now.

Laters.

Elijah Vents....

2009-12-12T20:57:00.001-06:00

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

At New World Bookstore

2009-12-11T16:28:00.001-06:00

At the campsite, 9 PM.

The Kids are off on their thrice-weekly hunter-gatherer expedition, down to Sixth Street, where KB will fly her sign saying “Free hugs/Donations Accepted.” She'll make maybe twenty bucks tonight, so there will be tailor-mades tomorrow. Coffee even. They'll drag into camp sometime in the early morning hours and undoubtedly will sleep in tomorrow morning.

And there will be free coffee for bike commuters up at Juan Pelota's coffee shop, Lance Armstrong's place. Weekends are rough, food-wise, and we never really know ahead of time how it's all going to work out. But this just in: the old man hasn't starved yet.

I will admit to being as skinny as I've been in decades. Haven't been this whippet-thin since the 60s.

I came across the tracks in the usual place, right behind Unbridled Store. One dog was out in the run and he came up with a few half-hearted barks, but you could tell he wasn't really into it. The other day I came out and there were half a dozen train urchins sitting on pallets wrapped in cheap sleeping bags. They've trashed the place, naturally, and will quickly wear out whatever little welcome they had to begin with.

I'd seen a cardboard sign which read, “Unemployed Supermodel” lying abandoned on the sidewalk there at Barton Springs and S. Lamar. Cute, clever sign. But dispose of it properly, dammit. Don't just leave it lying there on the sidewalk for someone else to clean up.

And, come to think of it, why didn't I—Mr. Self-Righteous—stop the bike and take care of it myself? An error. Tomorrow I will seek out something trashed and leave it better than I found it. Yes, that will be my penance.

My time on the streets is coming to an end in another ten days or so. Madame LaBelle didn't want me to come back for this last session, but I wanted to experience the cold, the misery of the streets before moving into the warmth and cheer of the Inside. It's difficult to understand the dynamics of life on the streets without experiencing it first hand.

And I have. It was down in the 30s last night, pretty miserable stuff, but at least it wasn't raining. I can take the cold much easier than I can handle the rain.

When you're on the street and it's raining, the first order of business is to get under something, some kind of a roof. If your blankets have been soaked, ya gotta get them dry somehow. I've fortunately been able to keep my things dry enough that I didn't have to seek out a commercial solution. But there are so many who aren't as fortunate.

And then it has to be a place where they will tolerate you sitting around for various lengths of time. Again, I've been fortunate to have Lift Cafe and New World Books. Most street people seem to gravitate to libraries or the shelters. But I don't care for the shelters. You have to keep an eagle eye on yr bike and bags at all times. The poor stealing from the poor. Sad but a fact of life down here.

Showers are predicted for tomorrow. And the weather is something I check throughout the day on this little netbook. Supposed to get down to 37 degrees tonight, which is not all that bad.

All is well. The tent is still here. I have 84 percent of my battery strength,but the words just aren't flowing tonight.

4:13 PM. Here at New World Books which seems to be Austin's premier hang-out for the discontented mass of conspiracy theorists. We are in the room towards the back of the store which is used for screening the films of Alex Jones and various other gurus of the movement.

As usual, I don't really fit in. Smokie told me this morning that KB thinks I'm a cosmic Mr. Miyagi, s' sent from the Universe to advise them. Hmmm. Bob Dylan sang, “Don't follow leaders...watch yer parkin' meters.” Seems like good advice to me. And Mr. Natural was always telling Flakie Foont that “it don't mean shit” in response to Foont's quest for meaning in the universe.

As for me, I have my own theories, understandings, misunderstandings. More and more I open myself to the possibility that we are living in a literal simulation, a Matrix if you will, and what I find interesting is how all-encompassing such an understanding can be.

The Russians are now accepting responsibility for the Blue Spiral Over Norway, so at least that's momentarily out of the public's radar. Back to bidness-as-usual.

And I am more and more disenchanted with the President, with politics in general.

My own personal hope and belief is that the computer will become conscious just in the nick of time, just barely able to save us from our own folly. Isn't it obvious that the fat cats with their collective snouts in the trough are not able to make the hard decisions that simply must be made to avert catastrophe?

I believe this coming Singularity of the Computer will be benign, nurturing along the lines put forth by
Ray Kurzweil in his book The Singularity Is Near.

I further believe that anyone who can reasonably expect to be alive in 2045 will never need to die.

Strange, strange, I know.

I will undoubtedly miss the cut. Helluva thing to be a member of the Last Generation to Die.

Food may be a problem today. I still have a couple of breakfast tacos which should still be good enough for subhuman consumption (at's me, folks), so... all will be well.

But I feel weak, tired, a bit out of it.

Nuff, then, for now.

Staying warm and dry,

Elijah

First Post From the Woods

2009-12-10T19:57:00.001-06:00

It's just after 10 PM, and I'm here in the woods at the campsite. I can hear Smokie and KB making conversation over there in their tent, but can't make out the words. Enough distance to create a bit of privacy, but still close enough to call out if need be, commenting on the raccoons or the opossums making a racket or...was that a police radio I think I just heard?

I just learned how to write out here in the woods and then transfer my copy to the blog when I can get within wifi range. So that helps. Yes, Lord.

Another magic day. Met Sistah Carrie at Lift, heard about the Blue Spiral over Norway. That really set Smokie off. “It's the BlueBeam Card,” he cried. “The Alien Card. The last card in the deck.”

Last card in the deck?

“A whole series of cards which can and must be played in order for the New World Order to be successful. The leaked emails meant that Copenhagen wasn't gonna happen, so they had to play the Alien Card. The BlueBeam Card. Obama's gonna announce the reality of extraterrestial beings and that we've been in communication with them.”

Indeed. Well, there are strange things afoot here in the Shire, as Gandalf might observe. Obama winning the Nobel Peace Prize on the strength of...what? Coming out of nowhere and through a brilliant campaign winning the nomination and then the Presidency? Who woulda thunk it a couple or three years ago? And remember—I supported Obama. Actually sent his campaign some money.

Forces are afoot. Some immense shift of paradigm.

I think, how easy it would be for the Simulation to have created the Blue Spiral.

A few keystrokes on the super-computer and...shazzam...the BlueBeam appears. (You'll need to read Nick Bostrom's theory of the Simulation.”)

Meanwhile the battery inexorably drains even as the sleeping bag begins to warm. It's a peaceful time out here in the woods. It's chilly but I'm not cold. I am so layered-up that I can barely button my trousers—and that's with layers outside the pants, too. Heh, heh. Something like 7 or 8 layers. Holy Moly, eh?

We've eaten. The kids (Smokie and KB) didn't make the food truck but I did. Asked for and got two extra bags to take for them. Hooked up with them at Lift, and the food made their evening. So, as I said, we've eaten. Had a 420 moment or three. Drank some excellent coffee. Entertained ourselves with tales from the Eschaton—end of the world.

But now it's quiet. I can hear the keyboard clicking and clacking. Traffic off in the distance. And before long a train will pass by so close that it sounds like it's bearing right down on us. I rather enjoy that. Memory tosses me back to my childhood when I lay in a bed about as far from the tracks as I am now.

Tomorrow is the tenth. Perhaps another ten days or so, and then I'll go back inside. Smokie and KB will remain out here in the cold. They will clutch each other and cling to their understandings of conspiracy. I enjoy them, their company, without having to be a believer. I simply am here. Looking, watching, weighing, seeking out the Magick.

Stay warm, dry, and at peace.

Hmmm. Wonder if the line that appears across this page will show up in the blog? And isn't it weird that the word blog still has that squiggly line under it indicating that it's misspelled?

The food truck wasn't on the itinerary and actually didn't come. KB went to the one there at Wooldridge Park, but I don't like going there. Too many Crackheads, pushing and shoving, cutting in line. All those ultimately self-defeating survival behaviors the scammers of this world carry about with them.

Supposed to rain tomorrow, supposed to be cold tonight. I was comfy all night long, thanks to Charlie's sleeping bag and the two blankies. Didn't even use one of them.

Up at the Springs, Sunken Gardens, Will the Troubadour was there with his guitar. So I'm standing there wearing gloves with hands shoved into my pockets (and still a wee bit chilly) when Will begins trying to play the guitar wearing mittens. Well, I've heard worse. But then the Spirit entered in and Will ripped the mittens off and began playing in the bitter cold.

There were five or six of us standing around, one with a harmonica he couldn't quite get up to speed with Will's playing. Jeremy from Tennessee out of smokes, snipes, tobacco of any kind. Old Man John with his hungry old husky, Mita. Black John on his latest bike. And me.

And the truck didn't come. It almost always comes on Thursday, but not today. It was dark, had been dark for an hour or so, when we finally gave up.

Back down the hill to Lift Cafe, just in time to help Danny a bit with the tables. Good people, here at Lift. It's a clean, well-lighted place (thank you, Ernest Hemingway), the help is...helpful and friendy, and Life stumbles and staggers on.

The Kids, Smokie and KB, are at some New World Order Legendary Writer/Speaker affair. They invited me to come along, but I felt more like checking the scene out down here on the south side of the river.

They'll hit Sixth Street tonight, seeking what they can find. Remember that KB came up with the Blackberry, the one that didn't have wifi? Smokie sold that one for $60and bought one with wifi. He's a porcine in clover.

Of course the Buddha sez that all life is suffering.

And Elton John rebuts by saying, “The boulevard is not that bad.” Boulevard, street, same difference.

So the evening is winding down. I'm drinking the last coffee of the day, am not concerned about the cold—so long as the tent is still there when I get back to campsite—and all is well in my little world.

See, leaving the tent up is a bit of a gamble. So I try to leave only the stuff there that I could get along without in a pinch. I carry the sleeping bag and a blankie with me on the handlebars of the bike in the $3.00 bag I bought the day I lost my first computer.

In a pinch I could rustle up some cardboard for a sleeping mat and make it through the night with just the sleeping bag and the blankie. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but it would be bearable.

I'm one of the lucky ones. I have decent gear and that makes all the difference.

Enough for tonight.

Thanks for being here with me in spirit.

Stay warm and dry,

Elijah

Surely We Can Say This:

2009-12-08T18:03:00.000-06:00

Surely we can say this: that our leaders have failed us. Again and again. To the point where there are subclasses of people who have utterly given up on the System. Why vote? Nothing changes.

I have since June voluntarily joined the homeless of Austin, with some much needed time outs from time to time. Call it: Rest.

So I have been here. Have slept in the woods, been rained on, hassled by the police, and otherwise shared the common experiences of those who live on the street.

I have made many friends during this Vision Quest. I've seen and learned things which I'd not given much thought to.

There is an entire subculture down here which is so highly suspicious of politicians in general, as well as the mainstream mass media, that various conspiracy theories are rapidly taking root. When ya got nothing, a theory which explains your failure as being the direct product of a massive conspiracy--now there's some words with meat on the bones.

Myself, I see the entire thing being driven blindly by various forces, with conspiracy now and then being a part of it. Yes, corporations have been known to profit from insider information. I mean, DUH. And elections have been stolen.
We have been led into costly wars based on outrageous lies.

So the Street is a place where the government is not only not to be trusted but basically seen as the Enemy.

What Smokie and KB have found, discovered, created is this mythic explanation of why everything's so...fubar.

The New World Order.

And that gives real purpose and meaning to their lives because they are *actively* out there trying to change things. Get the word out.

And of course the World considers them fringe lunatics.

I consider them to be Fringe Angels.

They have a message.

We can take what we need of that message and leave the rest.

Smile.

The food truck never came last night and isn't on the schedule for tonight, so that means they'll probably show bc last night they *were* scheduled--and didn't show.

Otherwise I'll have one of those McDoubles.

Tomorrow night may get down to 32 degrees if the weather-crystals are being scried correctly. Interested to see how well my gear can handle a night that shivery. The last two nights I have slept w/ the sleeping bag open at my waist w/ just the blankie over me upper. Twas toasty, Luv.

Today I called into existence a "Magic Day." I did that by doing the beads, a 40 repetition of thankfulness for the Magic Day I was about to have/create.

And why not?

Isn't part of my responsibility--now that I KNOW the Universe is going to deliver a Magic Day--isn't part of my responsibility to open my eyes and seek out the Magick?

Which I did.

From time to time.

From time to time I would remember it was a Magic Day and I would open my eyes to it and there shimmering or dancing or silhouetting or pirouetting or whatevvahing, there it would be.

And entire world slid by transparent beside the clear waters of Barton Springs Creek. I watched it slide by with that clarity and precision and...twas loverly.

And trees growing together and vines creeping up, climbing those gnarled trunks, black ducks arranging themselves just so in fabulous artistry of composition.

It has been here, each time I remembered to look.

I will do it just now. Back inna flash:

Gawd, I'm inna movie.

All is well in the great city of Austin. I say that from my perch of safety, full well knowing that there are others who at this moment are suffering. Here. In Austin.

And there is nothing I can do about it save follow my path where it glimmers.

I'm beginning to wonder if somehow I've not worn my welcome a bit thin here.

Hmmmmm.

Peace, aloha, devotion,

Elijah from da street

On Hunter-Gathers....

2009-12-07T12:23:00.000-06:00

I rolled back into Austin yesterday evening, a grey and gloomy return. A quick stop at Lift Cafe, then onto the hunt for Smokie and KB. I'm riding by JackInTheBox when a shouted halloooooo stops me.

KB.

They're eating Jack hamburgers, praising them to the leaden skies. Over coffee, we catch up on our lives.

They've upgraded to a Blackberry, and Smokie is investigating apps he can load to make it really...hot.

KB found it, peeking out from under some leaves, and now it has found a new home. Part of the little couple who is immersed in exposing the global coverups, etc. Heliocopters flying by on dastardly missions.

Smokie says something when seems quite profound: "See," he sez. "We're working for the Universe, right? Like...we're employees. And if we're doing all this work for the Universe, then the Universe has to give us the tools to get the job done, right?"

I've never quite looked at it that way but it does make perfect sense to an old dharma bum. Isn't that why so many angels of aloha have emerged to support this blog, this quest?

I run the past few months in a rapid rewind, a way-back. And I can see the Cozmick Characters emerging right on time, perfectly. I think of TJ, the guy with the bicycle powered by a chainsaw motor. He said, "I'm always on time. Even when I'm not."

And last night, sitting on the sleeping pad with Smokie and KB, I'm thinking of the early hunter-gatherer societies. That's what we are, hunter-gatherers. We awaken in the morning and set out on the daily quest: food, a warm and dry place to stay, decent company to chat with.

I've checked Mobile Loaves & Fishes. They're scheduled to come to Sunken Gardens this evening, so we'll make that rendezvous. Much like hunters gathering at the watering hole, knowing that food in the form of megafauna will soon appear.

They have fallen over the edge, into that abyss of total commitment. Their undestanding of the world as a massive conspiracy informs their thinking, that which they speak of.

Well. Certainly I can agree that the MSM, mainstream media, has failed us miserably.

Certainly I can agree that a relatively small percentage of the global population dominates the financial system. That's empirically demonstrated. Can't argue with it.

Now here's the kicker: As one of six billion ppl on this planet, surely I am entitiled to one six-billionth of the whole thang. Doesn't all this belong to all of us? And not to just a privileged few who through the chance of birth came into possession of the skills to kick some major okole, financially-speaking?

Call me a closet socialist.

Or maybe...just someone who sees something radical: that unless we as a global community come together in some kind of relationship with each other and the planet which is aloha-based, that we are doomed to destroy one another--and the planet, to boot.

I am not a Christian, but I do find the character of Jesus to be the most compelling and attractive of all the Cozmick Characters which have entered into our Collective Conscious.

Somehow we have to learn to share, to be responsible. The book of Isaiah has some wonderful things to say ab out this most necessary of transformative visions. It speaks of binding up the wounds of those who have been run down by a culture blindly headed for the precipice. It speaks of an aloha which transcends the gimme-culture which now seems to dominate so much of what the MSM presents.

All this I can see, sign-off on.

Somehow I see the level of greed which has infected Wall Street as being an incredibly powerful virus, a killer, a destroyer. Apollyon, it's been called.

To the extent that Smokie and KB can see and understand, they have placed themselves in the service of a solution which they think will work.

For that, I salute them. Wish them Godspeed.

My particular mythic path is somewhat different. But perhaps would be considered just as bizarre as any of the crackpot paradigms which stagger out onto Life's Stage.

So? Tis mine, dammit, and I honor it.

A gloomy day today, my friends. A day to find a warm place where your presence is not resented. Where when I look around, the ppl are not staring at me with those dark little cartoon rainclouds hovering over their heads.

Isaiah says, "How beautiful on the mountain are the feet of those who publish peace."

Ahhhhhh. What a lovely verse for a dharma bum blogger to keep in mind.

Peace, aloha, and joy,

Elijah from the street

Thanksgiving 2009

2009-11-26T11:33:00.000-06:00

I'm sitting here whilst all about me the women hustle and bustle, putting the feast together. Madame LaBelle got up early and headed for the kitchen to work her magic there.

I've been thinking about all the people who have come into my life so recently, and how grateful I am to the Spirit of Aloha that they are here, having taken up residence in my heart. So...to all of you who read this blog, to all of you who have reached out your hands of aloha time and again, mahalo from the Old Man.

'Ohana is a Hawaiian word. It means, basically, "extended family." And it's not necessarily the family one was born with. It's more along the lines of...the family which emerges from one's life circumstances.

So I'm thinking of all of you, and that spirit of gratitude has been washing over me all morning long.

In no particular order....

Jamie, who will be leaving Lift Cafe soon. We're all gonna miss her, and the Old Man will miss her in particular. She's one of the Blessed Ones, blessed by great genetics and marvelous gifts of compassion and charisma. Jamie, Dear Heart, thank you so much for appearing in my life and blessing it with your presence. The party you organized on my behalf remains a highlight of my time in Austin.

Meagan. The "Smouldering One." Why do I call her that? Because there is this sense of a deep fire burning within her, one which perhaps she's not quite aware of, but a fire of passion and potential. Dear Meagan, claim your power and get out there on Life's Stage and grab that mike and start dancing. All that you need will surely come.

Smokie and KB. My "adopted children." Smokie made it possible for this blog to happen as the little notebook had a major virus which was eating away at all the programs. Couldn't even get a browser there until Smokie worked his magic and installed Ubuntu.

He and KB are evolving, growing, into activists. They are passionate believers and have no problem sharing their convictions with others. My hope for them is that they follow their bliss (as Joseph Campbell advised) and see where it leads them.

KB is a beautiful young woman blessed with gifts of charisma and compassion. How interesting that so many of you have those same gifts! And how blessed I am to have been the recipient of them so many times. KB, darlin, I luv ya.

Willie. Now here's a man who's a success in the nuts and bolts of economic life and yet has his cup running over with Aloha. When I was cold and wet, tired and hungry, Willie welcomed me to Lift Cafe. He's one of Life's Givers, and my respect for him is enormous. Thank you so much, Willie. I consider you a dear friend.

John. John, too, welcomed me to Lift Cafe. As the manager, he could easily have told me to take my trip on down the highway, but he didn't. He's been gracious and generous, and I wish him the very, very best.

Charlie. At only 17 years of age, he's already one of Life's Winners. Thanks, Charlie, for the sleeping bag. It has kept me warm when others on the street were tossing and turning from the cold. Thank you for letting me ride your motorized bike. Thanks for the cigarettes. Thanks for being you. Your life lies ahead of you now, and if you keep on manifesting your beautiful spirit, so many people will be blessed simply for your having passed this way.

Danny with that marvelous voice of his. Allie I and Allie II. Dear, sweet Katie.

Kris. Ah, you da real deal, Bruddah man! I think if we looked up the word "aloha" that your picture would surely be there as illustration. Thank you for the gifts of warmth, lights, food, and friendship. I stand in awe of you.

Jason. You made it possible for me to take some wonderful photographs. The camera was stolen on the Long Ride, but not before I'd taken photographs which will go with me thoughout the rest of my life. I honor you, Brother Jason. You're truly an awesome person.

Erin. You serenaded me. I don't think anyone has ever done that before, and I felt so blessed and special. Your talent cries out to emerge. I want to read your lyrics and watch you blossom. Thank you, Dear Heart, for your gift of creativity.

Now here are some people from the Street (aside from Smokie and KB) who have enriched my life. Again in no particular order.

Smiley. Giver, generous heart, always thinking of others. Smiley, you're one of Life's Dharma Heros.

Will the Troubadour. Thank you Will for your songs, your warmth, your acceptance of me as a friend. "I'll share your pain."

Snail. Guru of the street, Emperor of the Dumpsters, Survivor of a Rotten Childhood. Sharer of snipes and smokes and food. I honor you as a brother and teacher.

Allie. Beautiful elfin woman-child. I so enjoy seeing you move through life. I was saddened by your bicycle accident and ever so grateful it wasn't worse than it was. Keep on keeping on.

Maggie. Beauty in motion, marvelous fashion sense.

Ingrid. Terrific songster, writer of fantasic lyrics. Thank you for sharing them with me.

Cleve. Down but not out. Clearing brush for a pittance. Sharing that pittance with others (including me). A survivor. Sleeping in the cold and not complaining too much about it. Thank you, brother.

Robert. Hater of being photographed. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me. Thank you for being another survivor, for being able to take a cardboard box and make a shelter from it. I honor you, my brother.

Elwin. Who shows up in my life from time to time, always in a welcome sense. You have so much potential. Learn from your time on the street and become a better person for having endured.

Todd. You're so much more interesting sober than when you're drinking.

Old Man John. You and "Mama" have been there for me as friends. Thank you for that.

And for McDonald's...Wes, the manager. Wes, you're one of the Good Guys. You've allowed me to sit out there on your patio and sip away at coffee, and have never been anything other than gracious and welcoming. How beautiful on the mountain....

This list would be incomplete without a big shout-out to the good folks who operate Mobile Loaves and Fishes. You have fed us when we were hungry and desperate, clothed us, and let us know that we're of value--not just bums and tramps. Thank you, Alan. Thank you, Cora.

Now this is just a partial list. There are so many who have touched my life, and as memory prompts me, I'll add you to my gratitude list.

But for now, here's wishing you all a wonderful Thanksgiving from Madame LaBelle and myself.

You have made so much of my Quest possible. Allies, helpers, kokuas, angels of aloha. That's you. Thank you for allowing me to share some thoughts and hopes, triumphs and failures with you. Thanks for being there in the good times and the not-so-good. You have all been my teachers, in one way or another.

You have made this Thanksgiving truly blessed for me.

Peace, aloha, 'ohana,

Elijah

Will the Troubadour

2009-11-25T20:10:00.000-06:00

Here is Will the Troubadour.

He didn't know that he was a troubadour until I so informed him, but now I think he kind of likes it.

You can find him playing his old guitar there near Sunken Gardens most any day, regardless of weather. Well, the rain does slow things down. But the cold? Nope. He keeps those fingers flying.

And what is his dream? How does he frame the narrative of his life?

As a troubadour. Although he called it something else. Guitar player. Singer. Composer of songs. Strolling musician.

See what I mean? Troubadour.

He used to have a car which was handy to get around in, sleep in, but it gave up the ghost and left him strolling the mean streets of Austin just as the ancient troubadours used to do.

I like Will. He has a good voice, writes good music, and is a cheery soul, to boot. The other day he played a gospel song he wrote in Spanish, and I was pleased to note that I was able to understand every word of it.

Here's to troubadours, both ancient and modern.

And especially to Will. He's one of Austin's finest.

And should be honored as such.

Peace, aloha, and strolling troubadours,

Elijah

A Dreary Day

2009-11-21T17:28:00.000-06:00

When you're on the street, rain is not all that much of a blessing.

In fact, it can be downright depressing. Especially when the tent managed to leak a bit due to the tarp not being hung precisely right. From that comes the sleeping bag somewhat wet with no way of drying it. So the Old Man is looking at a damp one tonight unless the chinchilla blankie can keep us warm enough.

Well, maybe body heat will eventually dry the bag?

The food truck won't be coming to Sunken Gardens this evening. Nearest will be up S. Lamar near Maudie's--and that's a haul up a long hill. Hmmmm. Still have some scraps from a couple of days ago, so it's not like it's the end of the world.

But on a wet day where do you go to stay warm and dry? Lift Cafe has been one of those blessings that just keeps on giving, but I try to be careful about not abusing their hospitality. Help clean up, put chairs away at closing time, etc. So there is that.

And the McDonald's here at Barton Springs and S. Lamar. Sitting here drinking my first cup of coffee of the day--and it's after 5 PM.

Wes, the manager here, is a super guy, very tolerant and compassionate to the Old Man. And I do appreciate it. Came in this evening and he said, "Welcome back." Referring to the Not-so-long-ride-2009.

Ran into one of my followers, Loren, earlier, who had stopped in at Lift to see how I was progressing. Always a treat to see him.

Dealing with some loss here as Jamie is moving on, leaving Lift Cafe. And that is not good news for me. She's one of those drop-dead gorgeous women just as lovely on the inside as the outside. Big heart. Compassionate. Gonna miss her bigtime.

And so the beat goes on. Haven't seen anyone from the little community that hangs out up by the Springs other than Old Man John (who is actually six years younger than I) who was eating breakfast at Taco Cabana earlier.

Where do they all go on days like this?

Haven't seen Smokie and KB yet. They were planning to go down to Sixth Street last night and do their weekly hunting. KB flies a sign which says, "Free Hugs/Tips Accepted" and pulled in about twenty bucks Thursday night. Great young lady. Love her to pieces.

She and Smokie are turning into little activists in the service of the Alex Jones paradigm. True believers. Smokie tends to get up on his soapbox given half a chance, but he's young and that's how true believers act. They're both convinced the "New World Order" is in the works, although KB is quick to proclaim, "I hope we're wrong. I really do!"

Me? I believe in Aloha. I have a great lady in Madame LaBelle, and she's an Angel of Aloha for sure. Planning to visit her next Tuesday and close out November with her.

But now the evening begins to come down as soft and gray as an old shawl. The cars stutter by with their lights on and the horn at the ready. Hook 'em, Commuters!

Weekend. No commuters running today, Bub. Just people moving hither and yon, moving toward goals of the interior. Where are they going?

On an evening like this John Prine comes to mind. He wrote: I hate graveyards and old pawn shops/Cuz they always bring me tears./Can't forgive the way they robbed me/Of my childhood's souveneirs."

You rock, Bruddah Prine. Sho nuff.

On my second cup of coffee and beginning to feel like a human being again.

I am becoming quite fond of Willie, the owner of the building Lift Cafe is in. He's just...the real deal. A real human being with a real heart and a real mind to go with it. Great guy. His compassion is heart-warming, and I wonder: how did he get it? What forces have danced with his heart to make him an unspoken evangelist of Aloha?

I need to post this while the battery is still up and the connection is still humming.

You people...you're my tribe. My 'ohana, extended family.

Peace, aloha, and warm and dry places from the rain,

Elijah

The Not-So-Long-Ride-2009

2009-11-17T19:44:00.000-06:00

"There's no fool like an old fool."

And then there's Elijah.

It was the third day into the quest before I even began to have a clue about what was really going on.

Picture this: there I am, trudging alongside the highway, with trucks barreling ass by and there's this big whoosh of wind and the sun is beating down and there's the old man, Elijah, just pushing away. Stopping every few yards to catch his breath.

Somewhere in there we began to see that this ride was not about much of anything other than ego.

Wow.

Pushing and straining up that hill, beginning to see myself reaching still for the corroded ring of geezer-glory. Yeah, dig on it.

And I had secretly told myself that if I did even one more mile than the Lawrence, KS to Boulder, CO ride back in 19(gulp)73. Starting to see?

Denial. Yeah, I can ride 885 miles across hills and mountains and desolate stretches of desert. You betcha. Can do geezer here.

So I see that the read antagonist in this mythic quest was not the hills, the narrowness of the highway, my nearly-to-the-bone weariness--none of that.

The real antagonist was my, yeah, ego.

Look at me.

In the Heroic Quest, the Hero is always confronted with antagonists. His job is to defeat them by wile or might.

In my case, realizing that the hills were no longer what it was all about, I took a piece of cardboard and wrote on it, "Will Pay/$20/Llano"

Long story short, by Mason I was having serious breathing issues. Oh, yeah, the COPD I've managed to minimize throughout all of this. I seriously needed an inhaler and had none. Wheezing, minutes of heaving breathing just to get back to normal.

Mason is over a thousand feet higher than Austin.

Tucson, the former goal, is a thousand feet higher than Mason.

So it was ego.

Angels of Aloha were all around me from the very beginning of this. The fantasic staff of Lift Cafe, the incredibly generous folk at Bicycle Sport Shop (thanks Kris, Jason, and Josh!), as well as those I met along the way.

Next post I'll try to flesh this thing out. As it is I've spent the past day just trying to digest and assimilate all that which I learned on this Quest.

And, when all the dust has settled, surely it must be looked on as a kind of comedy of denial of what is so. No, I cannot ride up mountains anymore. No, I cannot snap back from exhaustion as I used to.

My warranties are rapidly running out, and that's such a good thing to know, see. There will be no last long ride.

Somewhere that first day I crossed a line into "...the most strenuous bicycle activity done since 1973." Gawd. And there were three days of that, back-to- back.

Pushing up that hill I saw myself driven by pride and arrogance and denial of what is so. I saw an old man who didn't want to accept that he was...old.

The Real Quest, then, was not about making the long ride to Tucson. The Real Quest was about acceptance of the way things are.

The Real Quest was about seeing, recognizing the Angels of Aloha as they again and again and again manifested and appeared.

I live in a world which by the day becomes more beautiful and magical. And I see that the arrogance of that pushing up the long, long hill was what I was there to see and overcome.

I humbly say that my pride did not want to admit defeat to all those of you who have believed in me and supported me in this dream of mine.

But I believe this: that our relationship, that which exists between you and me, has a kind of magic to it. I feel it, especially when the Spirit of Truth breaks through all the broadband channels of illusion/delusion we so ardently worship.

So. We move outward. We follow dreams of substance, dreams of fluff. Dreams which have a way of becoming incredible teachers.

The Scripture says, "I am found by those who sought me not."

Sometimes the Real Quest is hidden within the Ostensible Quest. On the third day out, pushing arrogantly up that hill in absolute service to my ego, I began to see that.

It was a difficult thing to see. And the tiredness of the struggle helped me settle into the ease of acceptance.

In the end, the hills were Angels of Aloha. They broke me to the point where my eyes began to open.

In the next post I want to write about Randy Garcia, who let me sleep on his couch that last night and drove me all the way to Austin the next day.

An Angel of Aloha. And guess where he is tonight, even as I write:

Honolulu.

I've asked him to go to Waikiki and photograph "The Wizard Stones of Waikiki" for me. Many years ago, I was the kahu (keeper) of the stones. So Randy will be getting pictures for me--and for you.

Stay posted.

Much aloha, joy, and magical reality,

Elijah

Leaving Soon

2009-11-04T11:31:00.000-06:00

Soon I will be leaving on the Long Ride 2009. And I'm planning to document the entire thing on a new blog which will be: www.thelongride2009.blogspot.com
Hoping you'll all gravitate to that site once I formally declare the ride to be "on."

Planning to leave early next week for all points west, but kinda thinking...Tucson. That's almost 900 miles away. Think a 65 year old geezer/wheezer w/ emphysema can make it? Stay tuned.

Anyone wishing to contribute a bit of cash to the trip should get hopping. I don't have a bank account, so cash will be the only thing I can accept. Well, wishes of aloha would be lovely, as well.

Send to: Elijah Street c/o John Voss/Lift Cafe/215A S. Lamar/Austin, TX 78704.

As I may be leaving as early as this coming Monday, time is a factor.

And for those of you who have already given so much, peace. Relax. You've done enough already.

Don't feel under any pressure, Dear Hearts. If ya wanna then go for it. If not, don't.

It's all good.

Peace, aloha, and a world of blessings.

Elijah

Todd of the Pedestrian Bridge

2009-11-04T11:09:00.000-06:00

This is Todd. He bears a resemblance to Anthony Hopkins, don't you think?

I first met him back in the early part of Walkabout2. This was in the early days when I'd only recently discovered the Pedestrian Bridge, and I was just delighting in it.

So I was riding the Beast by and there was Todd, along with two or three other street denizens. I smelled 420 and came to a screeching halt. Todd was the vehicle for my first encounter with 420 here in Austin.

Now here's the truth: I didn't like him at all at first.

He seemed...well, grouchy. Like there was this black cloud fixing to pour down rain on his parade. His eyes were forever glancing this way and that, lest someone put something over on him or something.

I just plain did not like the man. He seemed, well, stingy. Out for number one. You know the drill.

But here it is Walkabout3 and Todd is now basically sober. And the transformation is little short of amazing. He's actually...fun to be around.

He's well read, smart, and fairly generous, considering his circumstances. The long and the short of it is that I now like the guy. Consider him a friend.

See what a little sobriety can do for a man?

Peace, Brother Todd. Blessings, 420, and a world of transformation ahead of you and all of us.

Elijah

Our Tender Forever

2009-11-04T10:47:00.000-06:00

Here we have a heartbreaker. This is a plaque on one of the benches up on the Pedestrian Bridge. And what a lovely name for what must have been a very, very special little boy.

When I first came across it, the sentiments reached out across time and just grabbed my old heart, wrung it out, and left me standing there breathless in a kind of dazed trance.

A bliss of confusion and loss and comfort all mixed up in a jumble of conflicting emotions.

I don't know the story of Keaton Galileo Willingham. I know that he was born on the 94th anniversary of the first successful powered flight. Wilbur and Orville. And I know that he didn't live long enough to make it to his fourth birthday.

I don't know anything at all except this torrent, this perfect embrace of aloha set in place by parents is still there, reaching out to the passersby.

Our Tender Forever.

It got to me.

Sometime, when you have a free hour or so, walk over the Pedestrian Bridge and seek out little Keaton Galileo. He's on the south end of the bridge, there on the east side. He's eternal now, so don't fret yourself that he won't be there. His spirit is very much alive.

Let who he was and who he is touch your heart.

I am so very, very pleased to have this very special little boy as part of our blog. And I say OUR blog deliberately. This blog belongs to all of us.

So...on yer feet, soldier! We gots alohas to delivers to dem folksies out dere!

Keaton Galileo is with me. And you.

Beauty all around us, right?

Peace, aloha, and the presence of Keaton Galileo Willingham.

Elijah

Waking Up

2009-11-03T15:38:00.000-06:00

Waking up. I come up through levels and layers of slumber to the day, which has been purring right along as I was chainsawing logs. It's one of those grumble/mutter/snort/cough kinda things. Daylight? Yep. For hooouuuuurs, Dude.

Charlie's sleeping bag is so comfy and I lie there all toasty and think about... getting up. Which means coming out of the warmth of Charlie's Bag and shaking a leg, getting things going.

Last night before I headed back to camp, I did a long slow ride/walk up Barton Springs, on a hunt for enough snipes for a minimum of one smoke before bed, one upon awakening. And found enough for--dang!--three.

K-e-w-l.

For anyone rabidly opposed to smoking, may I simply genuflect in your directions and admit you're perfectly right.

But one of the truly great pleasures of the street and of campsites in general for street people is that first smoke in the morning. You know, the one where your brain cells are acting like they've never met their neighbor before. All is a kind of gray and fuzzy...DUH.

Hot coffee of course would be the topping on the cake, but I have no way of heating coffee down here. Won't build a fire and don't have one of those little backpacker stoves. And, cough, no coffee. So there.

So there were actually TWO smokes this morning, so I luxuriated there, sitting cross-legged on the bag and pad, peering out through the little half-circle of the opening of the tent. Yep. The world is still out there. No Rapture as yet, unless I was left behind.

And a sudden memory of being in that hypnagogic state earlier and hearing the first birdsong of the morning. Appreciating it even as I let myself sink back into deep slumber.

Decided to time myself this morning. From the time I commit to tearing it all down, stashing, and packing up to pushing the bike away towards the world.

And the only way I can handle this without stressing is to make it a sacrament. The sacred...packing of the bags...loading of the bike...folding the tabernacle. Slowing everything down so that each movement becomes deliberate. Not quite as choreographed as the Japanese Tea Ceremony, but definitely moving in that direction.

I have four bags that have to be packed. The sleeping bag goes in the bag on the handlebars. Can't afford to lose that. It's packed in a white garbage bag courtesy of Lift Cafe. The bag has to stay dry. That's really, really important, so in the stuffing into the bag there is this moment of recognition of its importance. It was a gift of Aloha and should be treated as such.

Madame LaBelle's blanket rolls up and goes into left rear pannier, which isn't really a pannier but does yeoman service as such. Kris's coat goes in there as well, and the bag is swollen like it's about to give birth to puppies.

The right pannier is already packed with netbook, chargers, etc. I bring it in every night because, again, I can't afford to lose them. They are my connection to you, to this world which goes on spinning whilst I'm in the woods or down that highway headed west.

Backpack takes a couple of items, then goes just behind the seat there on Jason's rack. Almost done.

Blue insulation pad rolls up and is secured by a couple of homemade bungies. Bicycle inner tubes cut up.

Last is the half-gallon thermos I found the other day. Still haven't made up my mind about that one. Keeper? See how it works out. If I come up with a way to have hot coffee in the morning, I may make enough to fill the jug. Keep me caffeinated throughout the day.

So you may be thinking: Elijah, what kind of street monk are you? Always caffeinated or 420ed or pigging out on this or that? Hmmm?

My answer: that kind. Dharma Bum kind. A mendicant monk of Aloha, flawed, but doing the best he can, given his givens.

Finally, I take down the tent. It comes down quickly. I pack the poles in the little gray bag, tie it, and place the tarp, folded, atop the tent. Roll 'em all up together. Balance on my head as I make my way through the clutching bushes and thickets to my stash spot. My faith is that they'll still be there tonight.

Then back to the bike. Unlock, push out. Check the stopwatch:

Twenty minutes.

Egads.

Peace, aloha, and the holy sacraments of breaking camp,

Elijah

Smokie and KB's Camp

2009-11-02T19:27:00.000-06:00

Here we have KB and Smokie, sitting before their "hermetically sealed" tent from Wal-mart. They've taken garbage bags and taped and tied them together to form a makeshift tarp, rainfly.

Odd how our lives touch each other. Smokie came into my life as my IT guy, trying to get the derned virus out of my computer. Took Walkabout3 for that to happen, but he got it done.

Then he and KB needed a new campsite, so I turned them onto where I stay. They moved a few hundred yards away, and seem to be quite happy there.

"He'd be lost without me, KB told me last night re Smokie. "He tells me which way to go and I tell him what to do when we get there." She was reflective a moment. "Come to think of it," she said, "I'd be lost without him, too."

They are down here at street level, trying to get by. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights they go down to Sixth Street to pick up snipes and whatever it is they'll find. They came back with a phone with unlimited minutes the other day, plus an 8 gig flash drive. All kinds of things.

Down here, it's almost always some kind of treasure hunt, keeping yr eyes open to whatever the Universe provides. It's hunting, of a sort. Going out on the hunt, then sitting around a hot cup of coffee and telling the stories of how it all came down.

They are creating this narrative called Smokie and the KB. And I can't help but wonder how it's all gonna turn out.

Life is filled with wonderful stories, wonderful characters. Each moving along with their hangups and tensions and wants and hopes and all of that.

Every now and then an old man with a bike heading out west.

Wonder how that one's gonna turn out?

I've had a fine day. It's chilly now, and I'm sitting at Lift Cafe hoping for a cup of java before I head down to the Pedestrian Bridge to feed the homeless. Got a sackful of breakfast tacos John brought, and the food truck didn't come today, so they'll be most welcome.

See how it works?

Much aloha,

Elijah

In A State of Grace

2009-11-02T14:46:00.000-06:00

I have been on the edge, the verge of tears for some hours now. Strange. In the morning, I was so faint from low blood sugar that I made the ride up to Veggie Heaven. There I ate, then borrowed a plastic bag and cleaned up the parking lot for them. My way of saying "Thank you."

On the way I actually asked two people for money, both of whom turned me down. Compassion Fatigue. Understandable. But then I saw that today was a day for me to dance with my own compassion, to have compassion for those whose compassion is somewhat burnt out.

And then the day turned on me and became filled with Grace.

I cleaned the ashtray at the Scientology Building, then rode back down the hill. Stopped at Mellow Johnnie's and got a decal for my helmet. Then down to the "Opossum Temple" there on the trail, the north side of the Colorado.

A young lady was kind enough to take my picture seated on the "Voodoo Pew." It's the same temple I wrote about sometime ago when I spent an hour or so cleaning up the rubbish.

It's mid-afternoon now, and I have yet to check where the food trucks will or won't be.

But all is well. I'm riding well, conserving energy, brimming with something I suspect is a first-cousin to aloha.

Mmmmmm.

Peace.

Elijah

-Edit Posts – Settings – Layout – Monetiz

Liz: Unsung Hero of Austin

2009-11-02T11:45:00.000-06:00

Here is Liz, another jewel in the crown of Austin. She has been collecting things for the homeless since she was a wee tyke, and once a month she shows up at Barton Springs to pass out her collection to those in need. I see her rising early in the morning, keeping that sharp eye peeled for anything that'll benefit those of us who are hurting. And been doing it since childhood? I think that's simply amazing. What was it that moved her in this direction? How did the Spirit of Aloha find her at such a young age? She has shoes, clothing, hygiene items (yep, I really needed that deodorant, folks!), and a terrific sense of humor, a tough little sweetheart with a heart of gold and eyes that have been around the block a time or three. The Real Deal, Lucille.

What I want to know is this: why aren't all MY heroes the heroes of Austin in general? Guess they're just flying under the radar.

But if you ever run into Liz, give her a big hug.

Tell her Elijah sent ya. And that I take off my hat to her, bow deeply, and just think she's very, very special.

Peace, aloha, and thanks for the comments.

Elijah

Camp

2009-10-30T14:00:00.000-05:00

Just thought y'all might like to take a gander at the Old Man's camp. This is a typical shot, the tent still filled with "stuff."

This photo taken a few days ago, and will soon be dated as I'm planning to move camp a few yards tonight. Bit more secluded.

You can see that it's a bit of a clearing, fairly level. No problem getting comfortable of a night. But mosquitoes all around me when it's warm.

But now I have insect repellent, a good thing to have on hand.

My little home away from home. Most of it thanks to Madame LaBelle.

Peace, aloha, and safe campsites,

Elijah

Maggie

2009-10-30T13:53:00.000-05:00

Maggie is a goddess-in-training.

She just doesn't know it yet.

Wrote about her a few posts back. She's the one with the cat and butterfly story.

Maggie is always grinning, even when she's not. Even when she's smiling, she's grinning. Never seen anything like it. But it's charming and lovely, and what more could one ask for than to have Beauty all around one? That's Maggie.

Reminds me a bit of Annie Hall. Maggie is the kind who could take a gunny sack, grin/smile at it, and sashay down the runway looking like a model from some upscale fashion magazine.

Austin is a beautiful city, and it's all the lovelier for Maggie being a part of it all.

Peace, aloha, and Beauty,

Elijah

Unsung Hero of Lift Cafe

2009-10-28T21:06:00.000-05:00

This is Willie. From what I understand, Willie is the owner of the building Lift Cafe is located in. He's also a man with a big heart.

For those of you who've been reading this blog for awhile, you know that "big heart" translates as "heart of Aloha" is this here neck of the woods.

He strikes me as a humble man, and one who wants, somehow, to do something that will make a difference in this world. I get the feeling he very much wants to leave this world a better place for his having passed this way.

In my books, he already has.

He's fed me, given me coffee, and didn't drive me away when I was wet and cold, but instead made me feel welcome.

Now...isn't that strange, Austin? Don't you wish the world had a few more Willies in it?

So...each night when I do my forty mahalos (forty thank-yous), I run down the list. My little community. All those who have opened their hearts and arms to me.

Willie is an important part of this little Band of Aloha.

And I salute you, Willie.

Sincerely.

Peace, Aloha, and Warm and Dry Places.

Elijah

Unsung Heros of Austin

2009-10-28T20:45:00.000-05:00

Now here we have Jason, an unsung hero of Aloha living right here in Austin, beneath our very noses. You can find him down at a very magic place known as "Bicycle Sport Shop." He works back in Service, and I think that's so appropriate, for I know Jason through...service, wouldn't you know.

He, along with his co-hero, Kris, are on a mission. There have been no blaring of trumpets, rolling of the drums, or other displays of recognition.

That being so, may I offer up in tribute this humble little posting on the blog?

Today, Jason took my old rear carrier off and put on one that's sturdier, more suited for a long trip by bicycle. Spent the better part of half an hour putting it on. And...doing it right. He took his time to do it right. How important is that?

I think it's very important. He also had hunted up a pannier bag for me, sort of one-half of a pair of saddle bags, for those of you who aren't up to speed re panniers.

And Ah Luvs It. Mmmmm.

And Jason is not done with me yet. What he's done, you see, is he has invested part of himself in this trip. So every day that I'm out there on that highway, Jason will think of me from time to time. I will be part of an ongoing story that he will tell for perhaps the rest of his life. "The Old Man I Helped Do His Magical Last Long Ride."

Kris is along for that ride. Yesterday Kris gifted the Long Ride with a beautiful cool weather coat, rain-proof, and top quality. Lovely coat, just lovely. Always wanted one like that. And today Kris brought a red bicycle helmet to the Long Ride as an offering of Aloha. And how kewl is that, bruddahs and seestahs?

There are a host of other Heros of Aloha that I intend to pay tribute to before I ride off into that glorious sunset of Destiny.

So...Jason and Kris, thanks for coming along for the ride.

This little...Band of Aloha, right? This tiny little community of well-wishers who have gone out of their way to demonstrate their own commitment to this old man's adventure.

Tasty.

Lovely.

Peace, aloha, Aloha All Around Us,

Elijah

In Praise of Cardboard

2009-10-27T15:39:00.000-05:00

Cardboard isn't something we ordinarily take too much time out of our day to appreciate. But when the cold starts to develop fangs and claws, cardboard can make the difference between life and death. Literally. Especially if you've been drinking. I had an Eskimo lady friend who moved from Alaska to Honolulu because she was afraid of passing out some night and freezing to death.

Yeah, buddy. Brrrr.

It serves as insulation from the cold of the ground, you see.

Makes a nice impromptu umbrella for rain or sun.

Several layers make a serviceable mattress.

A big cardboard box will keep the wind off, and it's the windchill factor that can really do a street person in.

You can scrunch cardboard up until it's pliable enough to serve as a blanket.

Makes a great seat when the ground is wet or pebbly. Helps keep seat of trousers clean.

You can use it to make a sign. Remember's Smiley's "Good Karma" sign? Cardboard.

And this really doesn't begin to scratch the surface of the good uses a creative street person can put cardboard to.

It can be a makeshift shanty. With tarps over? Mmmmm. Nice.

So...a thousand kowtows in the direction of whoever it was who first thunk up cardboard.

We people on the street know it can be a lifesaver. We salute you, O God of Cardboard.

Peace, aloha, cardboard when ya need it,

Elijah

Brief Update

2009-10-26T18:42:00.000-05:00

Am having trouble logging on to Lift Cafe, so I'm not able to upload pics on this really s-l-o-w connection. Not sure what that's all about.

A wet one last night. The rain started in a sort of tentative way, so I got up and put on the teentsie rainfly. About 3 or 4 in the morning the rain began in earnest, so up again, put on poncho, shoes, and go out into the rain. Put the tarp on and that worked until sometime after 9 AM when I noticed water puddling. Hmmm. Not good.

So up and about the day. At least the new sleeping bag is dry. I didn't try it last night as it was just too hot when I lay down to sleep. Tonight will be a different story, however.

The bag is courtesy of Charlie, one of the barristas at Lift Cafe. Good kid, that Charlie. I'll upload his picture when I get things sorted out.

And yesterday Jason of Bicycle Sport Shop gifted the journey with a little Nikon camera that's just perfect for documenting this Walkabout. Or Rideabout, as it were.

Stopped in at Bicycle Sport Shop, took Jason's picture. Kris told me he's bringing me a jacket which is waterproof but breathable. Should be perfect for the trip.

I've been doing the beads lately, asking for guidance. And it seems like it's coming in right and left. The trip seems to be very much supported, so it's starting to look like a go. Just hope this old body is up to the stress.

Spent the day between Mickey D's and Lift. My trousers were a bit wet from the tent puddling, but body heat dried them out. Ditto the neck scarf.

I am hungry, true, but that's part of the deal. Perhaps I need to get my begging bowl out, saffron robes.

But that's not me.

All is well. The world turns as it should and all things needed gravitate to me.

I will leave Lift Cafe and move through the shiny streets to McDonald's and there I will see Cleve. He'll give me a couple of tacos ("still good," he'll say), gift me with a bit of 420, and I'll move on down the road, the mendicant having been gifted with food and smoke, up those hard-to-climb ridges and over across the tracks.

The dogs will be asleep and I will move through the thickets and low-lying brush, onto the path and to the campsite.

All will be well there.

All is well here.

Peace, aloha, angels all around.

Elijah
Peace, aloha, dry places.

Elijah

In Praise of 'Ohana

2009-10-24T14:43:00.000-05:00

'Ohana in Hawaiian means "extended family." And I suppose that's what I'm in the process of creating here in Austin.

Take last night, for example.

Smokey, the guy who got my computer working again, and his lady, KB, needed a new place to camp and so I invited them down to my neck of the woods. They'd been staying with an ex-soldier suffering from PTSD, and it was something of a hassle, always fearing he might come home drunk and disorderly, as it were.

The last straw was when he came back recently, drunk, and told Smokey he was going to "try to kill you with my bare hands alone." Not exactly the welcoming mat, eh?

Ended up Smokey and KB were PAID $200 to move on down the road.

Their first stop was Wal-mart where they bought a new tent and sleeping bags. Then they ran into me.

They are quite the couple. Smokey drink his coffee with four creams and ten (not a typo) sugars. Sweeeet.

KB is the opposite. I have this major salt addiction, she told me as she sprinkled three packets of salt on an order of medium fries there at Mickey D's.

Sugar and salt. Opposites attract.

They came to the campsite, set up their tent, then headed out for Sixth Street to make some money, pick up some prime snipes.

KB flies a sign which sez, Free Hugs! Tips Accepted!

I asked her what kind of money she'd made.

One guy gave me a twenty. Lots of fives. Hardly ever pocket change.

I heard them come in around 3 A.M., but I rolled over and went back to sleep. In the morning they were still sleeping, so I broke camp and went out a different way this time, parallel to the railroad tracks.

And just as I was passing Miguel's little campsite, someone called out to me. Ahhh. Miguel and another guy sitting on the tracks, smoking. I parked the bike and went to join them.

Other guy was Kevin. Scruffy, of course, this being the street. When he reached out his hand to shake, I saw his index fingernail looking all browned and shellacked from smoking snipes. Four day growth of beard, whiskers turning all gray and white.

I sat with them, smoking.

Talk somehow got around to cockroaches. Miguel pushed up his sleeve. See this bump? It's a cockroach got under my skin. Lives in there now. You can see him?

Well, yes, I said. Now that you've pointed him out.

He won't leave, Miguel said. Just lives in there. Quiet. But won't leave.

I had seen Miguel around, wearing a ton of clothes even in the hot. Now that it's cool he's still dressed the same. A man of indeterminate age. 50s or 60s. Who can tell? I asked him if he stayed warm last night.

No. I had two cans of beer and I couldn't even drink one, it was so cold. But it was good to wake up and have something to drink, y'know?

Of course.

This is how the day began.

T.J.'s Breakdown w/ Allies

2009-10-23T10:56:00.000-05:00

When the Spirit of Aloha is dancing, Allies are there where and when you need them.

Case in point: I'm sitting at the magickal LIFT CAFE, brushing the sleep out of my eyes, when I suddenly spot T.J. pushing his homemade motor bike down the sidewalk. The bike w/ the chainsaw motor, remember?

What's up w/ that?

Turns out he had a minor accident yesterday, a bit of road rash on his chin and his wrist about as sore as it can be without being broken.

He needs a new rear tire, and this is where this story picks up. Willie, the owner of this building (and a super-nice guy) comes by, takes a look at the situation, and makes suggestions that are right on, sensible.

Eventually, John (the manager) calls around. Empire bike shop is a possibility as is Wal-mart. TJ, being strapped for cash, opts for the latter. But he's paranoid about losing his stuff, doesn't have any way to lock the bike up.

So here's where I play a part in the story. I get to be an Ally for a change. I happen to have a cable lock (thanks to the ever-generous and lovely Madame LaBelle) so I offer to let him use that to secure his ride to the bike racks there at LIFT.

No sooner said than done.

John figured out which bus he needs to take, so as of this writing, TJ is off on a mission. Find a tire that'll work, get the ride working again, and see what the day brings.

Stay tuned. Will update as progress occurs.

It's now the next day, update time.

TJ came back with a tire and tube in the late afternoon. His bike was still safe,all his household goods still there where he'd left them.

He showed me the box the tire came in, happy that the tire was a "Mongoose," same as his bike.

Turns out the honcho at BICYCLE SPORT SHOP had given him the okay to change the tire down by the side of the shop, so TJ was in a happy mood.

Well, perhaps the five-liter box of wine had something to do with that, too. He took the wine out of the box and put it in his backpack. Packing his passport to Nirvana, Dharma Bum style. Where's Jack Kerouac when an old wino needs him, eh?

So last I saw TJ he was pushing the bike down the sidewalk towards the bike shop. I feel sure he got the tire changed.

I have to do this right, he said. I just can't can't fuck it up.

Let's hope he did it right. And who knows if we'll ever see him again? These wondrous characters from CCC (Cosmic Central Casting) keep showing up in my life and they are so over-the-top that I just know they're courtesy of the Universe's twisted and wonderful sense of humor.

Go in peace, TJ. Blessings.

Peace, aloha, and Allies Galore,

Elijah

Comments are most welcome!

2009-10-21T15:31:00.000-05:00

Hey, y'all.

How about a comment now and then? Let me know I'm not speaking out into some vast wilderness of a vacuum?

Agree, disagree, etc. All grist for the mill.

And thank you, each of you, for following along. You're my audience, and if you'll let me know how this is affecting, touching you, it'll fire up my creative juices, such as they are at this late stage of the game.

This is a vision quest, you know.

I am here to learn. And each of you is a teacher.

Nuff said.

Peace, aloha, and feedback,

Elijah

The Return of...Allison! (Allie)

2009-10-21T14:23:00.000-05:00

And here we have the magical Mzzz Allie, recently returned from a two day stay in the hospital. Her friend Maggie embraces her, unaccountably hiding her face. Two of my favorite people on the Walkabout, the Vision Quest. Mentors. Maggie has this incredible natural sense of fashion. No matter what she wears, it looks great, organic, emerging out of her own personal beauty to simply enhance it. I tell her that and Allie says, "What a beautiful way to put it. There was this really creepy guy--remember him, Maggie? Walks up and leers at Maggie and says, 'I like yer style, Babe.' Now if he'd said it the way you said it, it would have been kewl. But..." and she drifts off into silence.

Allie's jaws are wired shut, but she speaks easily. Of course can't chew a thing, so it's a liquid diet for our Miss Allison. The food truck came last night, so I had a little container of milk I was able to send her way.

I really do like Allie. She is truly a free spirit and I have this sense that right now she's going through a transitional time. There may be those who think she drinks too much, smokes too much mota or what have you, but I'm of the opinion that she is negotiating a path that is hers alone, and that she has everything needed to find her way.

This, then, is Allie. Beautiful, darling Allie. She, along with the saintly Smiley, are the givers down here at Street Level.

Quick story--or two stories. We're sitting down by the creek, right at the water's edge, and Allie is sharing some "kine-weed." Maggie says to me, "The first time we talked it was about butterflies."

Ahhhh. Yes, I remember. I was at McDonald's and this gorgeous butterfly came down, lit on my napkin, and went up to the rim of the coffee cup and did the "Rim of Fire Walk." That is, she walked around the rim of that cup filled with steaming hot coffee, wings atilting this way and that as though on a tightrope, and made it. Flew off into the wild blue yonder. Happy ending.

Maggie's story: "Allie and I were together and here came this beautiful butterfly and I said, 'Allie, look!' and just then the cat did one of those leaps and flips in the air or something and caught the butterfly."

And?

"And ate it."

Jeez. Maggie is staring off into that vast pool of the interior where memories and what-might-have-beens are stored.

So my butterfly made it. Theirs didn't. Same day, different butterflies, different outcomes.

Then Skratch speaks up.

I'm sorry, but I guess I've not introduced him to you as yet. He's one of those young blond hunky guys who orbits around Maggie. I have the sense that Allie is a bit leery of him, and perhaps with good reason.

He tells the story of being out in the Green Belt, around a campfire with some homeless person. The other character is a feral cat who hangs out with the guy, there on the edge of the firelight.

"I don't feed him," the homeless person says. "He just likes to hang out with me."

Just then an owl swoops down and takes the cat in its claws and flies off into the night. Skratch all freaked out, Homeless Dude companionless once again. Cat flying high but definitely not in first-class. Cargo is more like it.

So this is what emerged from Maggie's memory of our first meeting being about butterflies as we sat there on the banks of Barton Springs Creek.

Skratch.

I really should have his picture, but haven't gotten around to it as yet. It's a hassle. Unpack the netbook, boot it up, wait and wait. Go to the webcam function. Get the cursor positioned just right. Then frame the picture.

You see?

But I will put him on the list.

He's interesting in the sense that he began talking about how he came to be called Skratch. With a "k," he hastens to inform us.

He's says it's the name of an "entity" which possesses him when he goes into a blackout.

How Jungian. Jung would call that entity "the Shadow."

He says the entity is very creative but sometimes does things which gets him into trouble. Apparently Skratch emerged the night before and he's been wondering if all is copacetic with his friends.

Was I..inappropriate? he wonders.

He says the entity has been with him since childhood, and that he's now trying to stay "in" Skratch fulltime. Except the only time Skratch emerges is during blackouts.

Hmmm. Hamlet said, "Oh, let me not go there. That way lies madness." Or was that King Lear? Whatever, you get the idea.

So Maggie hangs out with Skratch, and Skratch...well, who knows where this character is going?

But I would think that the beautiful Maggie might well be a butterfly and the aforementioned Mr. Skratch might well be a cat. Or Maggie might be the pussy cat and Mr. Skratch the owl?

Puts an entirely new spin on "The Owl and the Pussycat," eh?

Can ya diggit?

Peace, aloha, prudence,

Elijah

Elijah w/ snake

2009-10-21T13:34:00.000-05:00

And here we have the poor little snake, lately escaped from the Garden of Eden, all dessicated and, frankly, dead.

Trying to cross the road, apparently there on Barton Springs Road.

I'd passed the poor little critter several times on the bike, and finally decided to give the little fella a fitting send-off to the Great Beyond. Of all the snakes on the planet, dead or otherwise, this is the only one to have a gig in my blog.

Sorry you got run over, Little Guy. Next lifetime you get to be one of us.

That kewl enough?

Peace, aloha, and safe crossings,

Elijah

The Obama Stencil

2009-10-19T17:05:00.000-05:00

If you take the trail on the south side of the Colorado River and stay on it past the bridge that leads over to the pool, you'll come across this stencil with accompanying graffiti. I took a picture of it back when the camera was still working--and before the racist scribblings were festering there.

Someone scribbled a Hitler moustache on the stencil. And "Dead Nigger"??

I noticed it had been Hitlerized in the time since I'd shut-down Walkabout2 and kicked-off Walkabout3. Meant to take a picture of the change, but the camera was broken, dammit.

Then a few days ago this computer got the virus removed and a new operating system installed, and this ability to take a photograph with the webcam started singing to me and so I've been taking pictures of this and that, as the Spriit has moved me.

As I'm riding by today, I glanced at it, of course, then rode a bit further before stopping. Photograph the derned thing, I'm thinking. You're in no hurry. Just unpack, boot up the netbook, and get a shot of it.

As I was unpacking, this couple stopped and the lady asked, "You gonna cover that up?" Good idea, but, no.

So we talked a bit. I told her I blogged and she asked for the addy and I gave it to her, one word at a time. "I can remember that," she said.

Then I took the picture. As I was waving the netbook in the air, trying to get a shot without me being too much in the frame--you can see just my shoulder--a couple of bicycle cops swooshed by. Ahhhhh. Headed for the Spillway to bust 420ers and Open Container folks. Sigh.

Packed her up, rode up to the ramp that goes topside, stopped to catch my breath. And there below me were the cops doing their thing. A guitar was strumming, trying for nonchalance. I heard one of the cops say, "You know you've got warrants" and this homeless person protesting, "Yeah, but I'm fixin' to take care of 'em."

I didn't stick around to see how that little episode played out. Rode up topside and informed the street people that the cops were downstairs on their bikes. A heads-up.

Then back down the hill by another route to LIFT CAFE and a much needed coffee.

The food truck is not scheduled to come tonight, so dinner will have to be courtesy of the Spirit.

Peace, aloha, and confusion to the ticket-writers.

Elijah de las calles

Moved Camp

2009-10-19T13:37:00.000-05:00

I've made another move, this one deep into the woods where I'm much more out of sight of people moving by on the trails. And they do move by. Walking. Ambling. Being pulled along by this dog or that. You know, just...walking...going by.

Anyway, I went back to the site while it was still daylight yesterday evening. I was feeling a bit worn-out from the usual routine and more than a bit uneasy about where I'd been camping. Along the way I stopped to cut off some particularly nasty thorny branches whose sole purpose seems to be to grab at me or the bike.

Tough little suckers. Man!

I rolled the bike to the new site, then went and got my tent and blankets from the stash. Still there. Very good. Not to have been there? Not good. That would have meant tarp and poncho, wrapped in every thread I've got. Definitely not good.

But they were there. At the site, I looked for stones and bumpitees which might disturb my rest. This is not the Princess and the Pea type of thingie. The carpet underlayment does a good job of smoothing the little things out.

Tent up, bed made, pillow inflated. Ahhhhh, that pillow. The wine bladder hobo pillow really did the trick. An elegant solution.

In the morning I'm sitting there smoking when I spot movement down at the last campsite. Then I see two guys way off on the path, walking along, mismatched hard hats. Hmmmm. What's going on here?

They move on and I don't have a clue. Do they represent a threat to the integrity of my camp? I'm not thinking that.

Eventually I pack, leaving everything there. The tent...gasp...UP.

See, there's so much condensation in the morning from my breathing during the night that to leave the blanket rolled up in the tent would pretty well dampen it out. Uncomfortable. Don't want that.

So the agreement is that I'll get a couple a plastic bags for from-now-on. Hoping the Dancer aqrees.

I have only the backpack, loaded up with that which I simply cannot afford to lose along with layers of clothing in case it turns cool.

On my way out I run into one of the guys who'd passed by. They've been maintaining the trail, apparently. The movement I'd seen was a pickaxe being swung up and down. Raking spoor everywhere. Mystery solved. Community Service?

The bike is light. Amazingly so. I hop on shortly after the dogs begin having a collective meltdown and ride down that bumpity rutted lane, dodging the bigger rocks and keeping the speed old-man-reasonable.

The day rubs the sleep out of its eyes now, and McDonald's is just ahead there on the right. I'm rolling downhill now and the bike is just a-humming. I feel just a bit of that thrill I felt as a child when I'd first really gained the skills to ride the bike. Nearly sixty years ago.

So the day is beautiful. Ahead of me, at both sides of me, to the rear of me. Beauty all around me.

Which is just another way of talking about...

You.

Peace, aloha, great campsites,

E.

Get Yer Motor Runnin'....

2009-10-18T16:08:00.000-05:00

Enter, Stage Right, T.J., pushing a monstrously heavy bicycle equipped with chainsaw motor. It was an old Mongoose Project X bike, one of those Wal-mart sells to those of us who can't afford the lightweight ones.

Only this one was just right for T.J.'s purposes. Cheap, strong, heavy and stable.

So he's thinking: I wanna put on motor on this thang. What I got?

Looks around the shop and sees the old chain saw. Hmmm...I wonder if...?

I didn't get a good pic of the bike, but it's a piece of work. Looks like it was designed and put together by a committee of schizophrenics, each one with his own inner blueprint.

But that chainsaw motor works. "Tore up that highway with mah chainsaw,"he drawls.

He rode this thang all the way from Sturgis, South Dakota to Austin. Started on the 4th of August and just got here a day or two ago.

You can see that he's in one helluva hurry, eh?

"I'm always on schedule," he says. "Even when I'm not."

Words of wisdom. Sometimes I'm so focused on getting somewhere by a certain grouping of hands on a clock that I forget that when you're in the Magick, you're always on schedule.

And he brought me a gift. He's talking about his hobo pillow, which, I'm led to believe, he invented.

He likes wine, you see. Wine in those boxes with the polyethelene bladders?

"What you do," he says. "is get this 5-liter wine bladder. All ya gotta do is open the valve, blow enough air in there to where ya like it, and put a towel or something over it. Instant pillow."

I was wondering where I could find such a golden fleece of a bladder when he said, "Matter of fact, there's one in the garbage can over behind P.Terry's.

And nothing would do but we go over there and retrieve it.

Sure enough, it seems just the ticket for a DharmaStreetMonk's head.

How lovely life is, filled with all these characters from Central Casting.

More later on this one.

Peace, aloha, magical pillows,

Elijah

Kris: Aloha and the Art of Bicycle Maintenance

2009-10-17T18:22:00.000-05:00

Kris is not your usual bicycle mechanic.

You don't walk in the shop wanting to borrow a tool so you can lower your bike seat an inch, and then have Kris listen to your story and just...take over.

He lowers the seat. Finds another set of handlebars...installs them...adjusts the brake cables...lubricates the cables...adusts, well, EVERYTHING.

And then doesn't charge.

Gulp. Thudding sound as jaw hits the floor.

Now dig on this: I walk into his shop this afternoon, got a few bucks in my pocket, and want to do something to further the LONG RIDE. What's this? Set of pedals for five bucks?

I walk over and ask Kris to check my pedals, see if they need to be replaced.

Yep, he sez, but those you got won't work. They're really small, for kids.

(Fantasy of new pedals instantly vanishes.)

But wait, he ain't done yet.This guy is Deep in the Heart of...Aloha. He sez, "I got some for ya in the back room."

And so he goes and gets them, takes the old pedals off, installs the new ones--and lets me walk out with the cash I need so badly. I mean, like, just how to-tal-ly k-e-wl is that, Grasshoppah?

I have been blessed here in Austin to come across so many people who are being vessels and vehicles for Aloha to manifest right down here where the zen rubber meets the road.

Kris, thank you. You're an Ally. And an Ally is a very special person who is of assistance as we tapdance down that road of happy destiny.

Kinda blows my mind sometimes,in a very good way.

Peace, aloha, safe riding,

Elijah

Clean-up Along the Trail

2009-10-17T14:20:00.000-05:00

A few days ago John asked me if I could help out Saturday morning. Seems there was to be a trail clean-up and he wanted me to help keep an eye on things.

Good enough, I thought. Yep, I'll be there, I told him.

But I don't have an alarm. And this new Ubuntu has the clock set an hour ahead and I can't seem to figure out how to get it set to CST.

So I go to bed last night thinking, well, just gonna have to check the computer when I wake up. And the chill of the ground seeps up enough at night to awaken me several times.

Here's what I did: Put the netbook within easy reach and drifted of to la-la land. Woke several times. The last time it said 7-something, so I realized it was really 6-something and that I had plenty of time. So did my usual pack-up, and made my way past the yelping dogs to McDonald's. Got a cuppa joe and Vannessa sez, It's 7:45.

Yeah? Not 6:45????

OMG, supposed to be there at 8, so it's lid the coffee and jump on the bike and get my okole up to LIFT CAFE.

But the timing was fine.

LIFT CAFE provided coffee and gift card prizes to the volunteers over at the trail head, and I just sort of wandered around and talked to people.

Great guy named Dale was overseeing the show, and it was really good to chat with him. Very compassionate individual, excellent people skills.

And sometime latter the volunteers began to straggle back laden with bags stuffed with rubbish. One lady came pushing a grocery cart she'd found. A square of carpet insulation all folded up in the bottom.

And the kids? They were right in there, doing their part.

It's a good thing to expose kids to volunteer service. They learn to connect. When you've cleaned a trail you're not likely to litter it. And you're waaay more likely to pick up after someone else.

I suppose it's because you've built some kind of relationship. You've picked up the rubbish and the trail rewards you by looking so nice, lovely, and beautiful.

So yesterday was my 65th birthday, right? So John ends up giving me a $10 gift card to LIFT CAFE and twenty for my time. Awwwww, dammit! I wasn't doing it for the money, but...you know how hard it is to turn down cash when you're out on the streets trying to create some magick? Hard, mon.

So I accepted the gifts of Aloha.

See the kind of guy John is? I'll post his picture soon.

And Jamie? Jamie and John are together, and a picture-perfect couple they are. Both are physically blessed. Translation: magazine cover material.

But more than that, for whatever reason, the Spirit of Aloha (which I call "the Dancer") seems to flow, move through them.

And I also know that it's impossible to do good without good coming back to you in some form or another. And the magick couldn't happen to a finer couple.

Which leads me to my next post: Kris, the bicycle mechanic.

Peace, aloha, magick,

Elijah

P.S. In the afternoon, I rode back over to the grocery cart of rubbish. The carpet underlayment was still there, so I unfolded it and cut out a piece long and wide enough for me to sleep on. That should take care of the ground chill.

See how the Dancer works?

My Magickal Beads

2009-10-16T18:20:00.000-05:00

And here we have the Old Man's Magickal Beads. Somewhat beat up, battered. Been around the block a time or two. They've found a home, and now they begin to sing.

There are forty of them on the string. Found them lying forlorn in the street, all abandoned and unwanted, and they were so beat and tired and discouraged that about all they could do was this pathetic little whisper: "Eee-LIIIII-Jaaaah."

Which of course got my attention. I stopped the bike, got down and picked them up. They felt just right there in my hands, like they were just waiting for some old Dharma Bum to come along who needed some japa beads and...well, forty, for goodness sakes, eh? Forty is a sacred number.

So they found a home in the inner left hand pocket of the jacket. Their job is to keep track of my mahalos.

Mahalo means "thank you" in Hawaiian, and it's a lovely thing of an evening when you're out in the middle of the deep dark forest to pull the beads out and go for forty things you're grateful for this day.

I find it's a lovely way to reconnect to the Spirit. And being grateful is such a sacrament in and of itself.

I am grateful for you, you know.

Just ask my beads.

Peace, aloha, and grandma's cookies,

Elijah

A Birthday Gift From Alex and Erica

2009-10-16T15:26:00.000-05:00

And here the old man is on the morning of his 65th birthday. A bit chilly, hence the scarf wrapped about his neck. McDonald's.

Last night I was at McDonald's, counting out the handful of pennies that the saintly Smiley had gifted me with earlier in the day, when a lady walked up to me and handed me three one dollar bills, folded. Unsolicited, I might add.

I was of course touched by the gesture. "Tomorrow," I told her, "is my 65th birthday and I'm going to regard this as my birthday present."

I went inside, ordered a coffee, and when I came out she walked over and handed me a $20 bill.

Folks, when the Spirit of Aloha begins to touch the hearts and lives of people, strange and wondrous and amazing things begin to happen. You'll be sitting at a table counting out the crumbs, the pennies, trying to put together a cup of coffee when quite suddenly, out of nowhere, the hand of the Spirit of Aloha reaches across that vast abyss of indifference and...makes contact. And you realize that, like the Navajo, there is Beauty in the front of you, Beauty behind you, Beauty to the left of you, Beauty to the right of you.

Beauty all about you.

This is what happens when an Erica, an Alex, a Jamie or a John open up and become the *means* of Aloha manifesting down where the shoe leather meets the street.

And this day is not yet over!

Alex and Erica, if you read this please send me your email addy. I could just kick myself for not getting a picture of the two of you last night, but rest assured that you brought a world of cheer into my life!

Mahalo again and again!

And a special tip of my hat to my friend Lorin, of LIFT CAFE, who has started reading my blog.

Ah luvs all you meeces to peeces!

Smiley: A Legend on the Street

2009-10-15T20:00:00.000-05:00

And here we have Smiley.

If there is a truly holy man that I know of on the streets of Austin, Smiley would be the one I'd nominate and vote for.

He's a giver, a sharer, one who looks out more for the other person oftentimes than for himself.

And I just realized that I know so little of his personal history, what brought him to the street, his hopes, dreams. So this is just the very beginning of a post about Smiley which I will add to in the days to come as I learn more about what moves him about the mean and not-so-mean streets of Austin.

Here he holds his sign, his mendicant-monk sign. He asks for so little. Fifty cents. And his sign says so much about him and what he believes. He does believe in karma. He does know that it comes back to you.

Guess that's why we all care about him so much.

I consider him to be one of my teachers here in Austin. Mahalo, Smiley. You da real deal, dawg.

Allie's Wreck

2009-10-15T12:19:00.000-05:00

Allie (Allison), one of the truest of free spirits here in Austin, had a major bicycle wreck the other night.

Apparently it was raining and she was coming downhill waaay too fast,was waaay too drunk, and the physics of wet and speed and turning all combined to morph into a major nightmare for her--and for those of us who love her.

Her jaw was broken. In addition, the place where the jaw connects to the skull was broken, which ended up injuring her inner ear. Chin broken. Road rash galore.

So she's in the hospital, and I can't visit as I don't have ID.

Plastic surgery scheduled for yesterday or today. I deal with the news of the street which may or may not be accurate. A very sad thing, but at least she's alive, will recover, and will learn something from all of this.

I'd post her picture but she has this thing about photographs. She won't pose for one but if you can catch her in a candid, that's kewl. But my camera is broken and all I have to work with is this little webcam. I'll try to get one once she's back with us.

I asked her how old she was once, as she looks about 14, and there she was swigging on a bottle of Knob-something-or-other bourbon.

"Twenty-one," she said. "And a half."

She could have slipped right off the pages of Tolkein. She's elfin, sprite-like, a faerie creature. And although she could be inside, she lives in the Green Belt.

"Allergies," she said when I asked her why. "It's just so much easier in the Green Belt." Ahhhhh.

In the meantime, send best wishes. She's a Sweetie, with a capital "S."

A world of aloha wafting its way to our Precious One.

E.

Housekeeping Chores...Preparing for the Long Ride

2009-10-14T16:14:00.000-05:00

So here we have Elijah posing in front of his trusty steed, the Peugeot. This is how the bike is loaded today. Plastic bag covering the seat will be discarded as it's no longer needed now that the rain has stopped. The little kickstand was taken from an abandoned bicycle up near Barton Springs. Want to get that wire water bottle carrier, too. I could use an extra one, especially if the Long Ride becomes a reality.

The yellow roll is the poncho, which I spread out on the floor of the tent at night. Blue is the tarp which serves yeoman duty as a rain fly. Very important piece of equipment. The sports jacket is folded and lies atop the rest of the gear. Tent is neatly rolled and attached out of sight to the rear carrier. Water bottle is over at the table where I'm typing this.

Now ordinarily I'm wearing the jacket. Makes me look a bit less "street" and a whole lot more respectable. John and Jamie of LIFT CAFE were effusive in their praise of my "new look." Smile. (And of course I loved hearing that.)

But today is just so bloody hot! So here I am in denim shorts, looking a bit scruffy, but passable.

Earlier I rode up to the Barton Springs area to dry things out. Turned the tent inside-out. A lot of moisture was in there. Didn't take long to dry in this heat. Did some washing of clothing by hand there in the sink of the rest room. Spread the damp clothing out on the concrete which had been washed clean by the recent rains.

Twas lovely. Donned a still damp undershirt and let it dry on my body. The polo shirt is decent looking, so that's my uniform for the day.

I looked up the food truck, and they're not scheduled to come up to the Sunken Gardens where we always wait for them. I spread the word it wasn't coming, so at least the people wouldn't stand around for an hour and a half hoping. Don't know how many times I've done that myself.

See how empowering it is to have access to the internet?

I did see that the truck will be at Waterloo Park this evening, so I'm tentatively planning to ride up there. Two sandwiches, milk or juice, Oreo cookies, chips, a boiled egg--doesn't sound like much, but it's a real life-saver when you're out here facing the elements. Very, very grateful for Mobile Loaves and Fishes.

They have a website, and it's a terrific place to make a donation. These people are actually out there doing something real, making a difference.

***

Now I don't know if the Long Ride is gonna happen or not, but I do have some thoughts and considerations. First, if I'm ever gonna do it, I need to do it NOW. My breathing isn't getting any better, so there's this window of opportunity which will not be open for too many more years. As noted, 65 day after tomorrow. And unsafe at any speed, btw.

So what I'm thinking is...I would like for the Long Ride to be something we all participate in, have a stake, an interest in. Obviously I'll be blogging along the way. And I'm thinking I would like about 250 to 500 business cards printed up to solicit readership for this blog. And of course I'm gonna ask for help. I wouldn't be much of a StreetMonk doing Walkabout 3 otherwise, now would I? Smile.

I'm putting together a list of what I absolutely must have to start out on the trip. Sleeping bag...yep. Don't have that yet, and of course I want one that'll stuff into a fairly smallish bag. I don't want to be rolling down that highway looking like some third world farmer on his way to market.

I'm hoping to look fairly, well, respectable. Which means it would truly be lovely to have a pair of cheapish saddle bags for the back and a decent looking basket/bag for the front.

But I'll get to all that when I do the "wish-list" post.

There seems to be a decent and direct route west to Phoenix, so that's where I'm hanging out in my head.

That's where the Long Ride is just now. In my head. I've mentioned it to John, and he seems very supportive. But we'll see.

If a van or trailer or something opens up here in Austin, I just might spend the winter.

But I'm a person who lives by signs and wonders, by little miracles that tapdance into my life, take a deep bow, and deliver whatever it is they've brought.

I live by miracles, sleight-of-hand of the Dancer, smoke and mirrors.

And who is that Masked One behind the curtain?

And I see that John V. of LIFT CAFE has signed on as a follower. K-e-w-l!!

Peace, love, dancing.

Elijah

Lift Cafe with Geezer Mugging for Camera

2009-10-13T15:37:00.000-05:00

"Still Life With Geezer."

A month or so ago I inadvertently broke my digital camera screen so I've been at a loss to take photographs. At least with this webcam function in the netbook, I can document somewhat my life.

I'll try to take one of the camp soon. I'm sure you're all looking forward to that.

Meanwhile...off to McDonald's. Don't want to wear out my welcome here at LIFT.

Peace.

Wreck

2009-10-13T14:55:00.000-05:00

I just witnessed a two-car collision at the turn-in to Lift Cafe. The driver of the car "in the wrong" doesn't even own the car, so he's looking very bummed-out. Their airbags went off and the woman was somewhat shaken up, leaning on my arm as I helped her away.

John was right on it. He actually saw it happen and came out quickly. After getting everyone out and about, he and I picked up wreckage debris.

Jamie called 911 and the fire truck and EMS were here briefly--gone now--and the police are filling out the usual forms.

So...both drivers will be telling the story again and again down through time until it becomes threadbare with the telling. And years from now when the topic of car wrecks come up, this one too will join the queue.

Without airbags this could have been tragic.

Peace.

Hungry

2009-10-13T13:12:00.000-05:00

Ok, ok, so I'm hungry. It's a wonderful thing to experience now and then, and it's a rare thing for me. Puts me in touch with much of the rest of the world where hunger is an unwelcome guest who rarely goes away.

It has been raining off and on since early this morning. I set the tent up last night with the blue tarp over it as a rain fly. The musician Blue said recently, "Ain't no tent gonna keep the rain out unless it's got a tarp over it."

Well...ok. I've had tents that are quality and which DO keep the wet at bay, but when dealing with a $20 (new) children's tent from Wal-mart, it's best to err on the side of caution. (This is not to say that I'm not deeply grateful for this little tent--I am--but I have to deal with the little tent's limitations.)

So I got up and started putting my day together. All the contents of pockets shoved back in. Hard to lie on one's side when this and that in the pocket is trying to gouge a hole in one's thigh. All that put back in.

The big blanket which smells of wet and mustiness...folded. Rolled inside the tarp. All of that rolled inside the tent and placed in my little hiding place. The water bottle shoved into the wire frame on the bicycle. Yellow poncho donned over backpack.

Pushing off. Moving carefully. The trail is muddy, rock-strewn, treacherous, and a fall would not be a thing I'd welcome. I move like an old man--surprise, surprise.

I could hear the dogs not so far away. There's a kenneling service alongside the tracks and the dogs are out during the day, so it's a madhouse of yelping and baying and barking once I'm spotted crossing over the tracks.

Today I don't cross directly to the dogs even though that's the easier descent. I push the bike bumpity-bump along the railroad ties, noting how many of the spikes that hold the rails down are loosened. Hmmm. Not good.

And cross over. The dogs are still barking but that's just what dogs do, especially dogs that are confined with no chance to run free.

At the bottom of the slope a woman standing beneath an awning, her little chihuahua barking at me, all David and Goliath-ish. She's laughing so hard...dang, haven't heard anyone belly laugh like that in ages. At least I'm doing someone some good. And that little dog must feel like Popeye after he's downed a case of spinach. Grin.

Breathing hard. At the street I stop to catch my breath. Rain coming down pretty good hickory, as Grandpa used to say. I push off and no sooner am I riding along than I hear someone yelling. Some guy across the street, waving at me to come over.

So I do. A case of mistaken identity. "Sorry, man," he says. "I thought you were Cleve." Cleve. I've written about him. Rides a bike, has a rear carrier. Easy mistake to make when I'm wrapped in the anonymity of a rain poncho.

I ride off, cross to the BS Saloon, and there's a guy with crutches there out of the rain, his stump of a leg dwindling to loose denim. We exchange the minimal street greetings and I find a few--very few--snipes. Enough for two smokes.

And as I ride off I'm thinking about this guy who might well have stepped on a land mine in the service of his country. Serving US. And here he is, trying to stay dry, trying to make it through another day. I say a quick little prayer for him: SEND BLESSINGS HIS WAY.

At LIFT CAFE, I plug the netbook in, check Huffington Post, Google News, and get myself oriented to what's happened since I was last online. I try to contact Madame LaBelle, but looks like she's off to work.

Hungry. I rummage through the backpack and find the one orange from last night I'd forgotten about. Chomp, chomp. Mmmmm. Sticky fingers.

Smoke, smoke. Still hungry. A bag of hard candy to take the edge off. Peppermints. Jeez. Sure getting tired of them.

John, the manager, strides by. He's a great guy. "Sure getting tired of this weather," he says.

Um, uh, AMEN TO THAT!

I am so hungry.

So it's 1:09 and I have options. The first is to pack up and ride UP the hill to the Drag where Veggie Heaven will no doubt give me some rice and veggies. That would be good, but the ride is so long and so exhausting.

The other is just to tough it out here and wait for the food truck at 6 PM. It almost always comes on a Tuesday. Wait!! I just remembered I can look it up online and they'll say if they're coming or not.

Outta here.

Things to do.

Lives to touch, transform.

Dogs to entertain.

Arf.

Elijah, your man on the street.

What I Have In Common With Picasso

2009-10-12T23:02:00.000-05:00

Well, didn't Picasso have his little "Blue Period"? Hmm? And can I not have one, too? So cold I've turned blue.

Actually, I'm just trying to figure out how to upload photographs and suchlike. I want to make this blog exciting and wet and wild and wonderful. Got the wet pretty well down, thanks to that recent cold front. Now to get on with the wild and wonderful parts.

Cater-corner across the street the BS Saloon is hopping. Sorta. A few voices lift themselves above the crowd to let us know that, yes, they're having a great time at the friendly neighborhood bar where cheap beer flows abundantly.

I go there of a morning to pick up snipes. Snipes. Dictionary definitions we don't have, dear heart, but snipes are discarded cigarette butts, collected by those with the addiction and little cash. They are lovingly or not-so-lovingly torn to shreds and pulverized and rolled in paper and lit on fire.

The native americans considered it a sacrament.

So do I.

Back In Austin, Computer Fixed

2009-10-12T21:17:00.001-05:00

And now it's nearly 10 PM here at McDonald's. Matt is sitting a few feet over to my right with his daschund, Rosie, on his lap. He says, "If I hadn't had that car wreck 15 years ago and had all that brain damage, I'd be riding, too. I got balance problems."

Don't we all.

Last night Smokie was there at Lift Cafe when I rode up, him all smiles and high-fiving. "Got her fixed," he said, meaning the netbook computer. Virus banished to VirusHell and now...the blog can at long last be updated.

I was gone for a couple of weeks, there in Houston to relax and rest, recuperate. Living on the street can be an exhausting enterprise, especially for an old man such as myself. (I turn 65 this coming Friday, folks!)

The hardest thing is of a night, going back into the woods and the darkness, there to struggle through the mud of the path and the branches that seem to reach out to whip your face, through the tall grass with the droplets of wet to the space.

Camp.

And to the stash, where the tent lies beneath the blue tarp, hoping all is still there, that the blanket hasn't gotten too damp for comfort.

When there are mosquitoes, it's a race against time to get the little tent up. The two fiberglass poles are contrary critters with well-developed minds of their own--and attitudes from hell. They test a lifetime of carefully developed patience. And the mosquitoes are olympic quality in their ability to penetrate my feeble shooing-away defenses.

In the end, with the tent assembled, I hop through the little door and quickly zip the netting shut. Doesn't matter. At least one or two always manage to precede me into the tent, so there they are, buzzing away with that high-pitched whine, letting me know that they're HUNGRY and nothing will do but to let them have their drop of blood so as to leave me in peace. I bare my shoulders and avert my head. Thus turns my world.

That's what's ahead of me tonight, so I'm sitting here at McDonald's in a world of denial. Yes, I know I could go right now and do that fun stuff. But I also know that I can put it off for awhile, that it will be waiting for me at whatever time I return.

I am twenty cents short of a coffee. Since coffee is just 42 cents, you can deduce that I'm rolling in cash--right? Smile. Doesn't matter. The twenty cents will emerge tomorrow at just the right time, and I will drink the three cups of coffee that will buy.

Having a functioning computer changes everything, of course. I spent the past week or so thinking about what I would write in the blog once the computer arose from the grave. Great and noble thoughts I thunk, but I'll be blessed if I can remember a single one of them.

I know that there are people I want to write about. Allison comes to mind. Maggie. John and Jamie, of course.

And did I write that William B. Clay was in the hospital in grave jeopardy of having his legs amputated at the knee?

Last I heard he was discharged from the hospital, legs intact, thirst unabated. But haven't seen him since I got back.

I did run into Cleve. He's the one who assured me that he didn't drink and didn't care to be around those who did. Right on, I told him. So when I returned to Austin there he was sitting in the bleachers all glassy-eyed with a can of some kind of gawd-awful beer in his hand.

Well. Okay. So I stayed the minimal amount of time for the sake of courtesy, then headed out.

And I must write about Snail who, last evening, was a flying about treetop level and reached out and touched my arm. "This guy," he said, meaning me, "is the real deal. He's already proved himself many times." That was apropos of something, I'm sure, but can't recall just what.

The food truck didn't come Saturday, didn't come Sunday, and did come today but it came an hour early so when I got there it had already come and gone. My stomach did one of those agonizing leaps from a very high place and came down smack dab in the middle of some middling hunger.

Hunger. Yesterday I was so hungry I was faint. The day before I'd only had two breakfast tacos--cold--courtesy of the Divine Mzzz Jamie, so I was having some serious blood-sugar issues. Nothing to do but hop on the bike and ride up to Veggie Heaven, where I was given a foam container of rice and veggies.

But I've gotten ahead of myself. On the way I was somewhat irritated (translation: super-pissed) at my Higher Power. Like...where's the $? Where's the food? You're not holding up your end of the deal, Sweet Thang.

So at this corner I stop to catch my breath and this man is walking along and I (choke, gasp, sputter) ask him to help me out. He gives me a buck.

At McDonald's I'm still eight cents short of a McDouble, so I ask this Latino bicycle guy. Turns out he and the two others are in some kind of a race, but he hunts around in his bag and comes up with three energy bars--snacks. Mmmmm.

And this big ole farm-boy looking type hunts around for eight cents and comes up with a handful of change which turns out to be more than a buck.

So I eat. And say my contritions to the Dancer (my HP). Sorry, Babe, I mutter.

I was jist hungry.

Po' thang, she whispers, and dances away. A bit of Tahitian Hula thrown in there, just to keep me on my toes.

Then I met "Righteous Rebecca" there at the Scientology Building there on the Drag. She had one kinda beat up orchid which she was trying to sell, and she came over and introduced herself to me. Blonde, missing some teeth topside, a bit on the heavy side. That's the appearance thingie. But the heart simple and trusting and somehow bruised and battered but still beating bravely away.

They took away my food stamps, she said. Sixty years old and they took away my food stamps.

So there she is trying to sell some wilted orchids with the rain let up now. A couple of college kids are standing there by the coffee shop smoking, and I try to buy a cigarette. The girl walks back inside and brings back two.

Somehow we start talking the tower over there where Charles Whitman in 1966 lost it and climbed up there and started shooting people.

A street person, fairly shabby, perks up his head. "I was there!" he said. "Right here on Guadalupe. I was fourteen years old and checking out all this free love shit I'd heard about and blam this woman right in front a me got shot and I grabbed her and dragged her into a doorway."

All of which just goes to prove my point: that all lives are works of art. It's just that they've not been properly edited.

I took some horrific pictures of myself today using this little webcam feature my new operating system--Obuntu--comes with.

Should try to upload one of them.

You've been warned, Pilgrim.

Peace, love, and a cornucopia of fooooood.

E.

Brief Update

2009-09-28T15:44:00.000-05:00

It's Monday, the 28th of September, and I'm no longer on the street. The mendicant monk has come in from the cold, so to speak, and Madame LaBelle has spread her spiritual wings over him.

Just finished a brief review of LIFT CAFE wherein I gave a shout-out to John and Jamie who did so much to lift my spirits during the month I was out there on the Walkabout.

There are so many people and events I want to write about, so bear with me while I organize my somewhat disjointed thoughts and try to pull it all together. Stay tuned for future updates.

I'm thinking of...John and Jamie...Tom...Cleve...William B. Clay...Smoky and K.B....Smiley...Drifter... Courtney...DeLon (and red-headed g/f)...Blue the guitar player...his sidekick Jimbo...Snail...Old Man John... the drum circle at the Pedestrian Bridge...Creeper...the lady Economics Major there at UT... and so many, many more.

It was a month of incredible tension, elation, boredom, and excitement. A real grab-bag of happenings and emotions, and I don't want that time to fade into the mental woodwork without making an attempt to get it down in black and white.

For those of you who are following this, feel free to drop me a line at my email: elijahmekealoha@gmail.com

Would love to hear from you.

Peace and aloha...it's been a trip!

Elijah

A Gaggle of Bums

2009-09-11T10:05:00.000-05:00

I just came from McDonald's where the usual gaggle of street people were hanging out for morning coffee. William B. Clay (hereinafter "Clay") was there with his great booming voice and a database of stories going back to the Pleistocene of his life. Or the Paleolithic. Take yer pick.

He's an alcoholic of the hopeless variety, a veteran. The VA has been trying to get him into a 90-day detox program. He sez, "I know it would do me some good." Pause, big grin. "But I don't WANT good." Booming laughter.

He has a black eye all puffed up, swollen, and of course a story goes with it. He was coming out of this place where he'd just bought a beer, minding his own bidness, when these two rednecks accosted him and of course he just had to beat the living crap out of both of them and then one of them hit him upside the head with some kind of club or something and that was all she wrote.

(And Smiley just now walked up.)

There were half a dozen of them, once Elwin rode up. Elwin of the two broken wrists from hitting a curb at high speed on his bicycle with no brakes. His forearms are wrapped in ace bandages up to his elbows, but his injuries don't seem to have slowed him down all that much. Yes, in answer to my query, he does have tobacco. I roll. Light?

He says, Need a lighter?

Yup.

A lighter materializes, blue, to replace the one which gave up the ghost just last night. The Universe provides again.

Elwin has a strong resemblance to the political operative in the tv series The West Wing. But shorter.

Next door is the Peter Pan Mini-golf place with the steps where the bums hang out until chased off. Lost boys, every one, grown now, but as lost as ever. And who am I to talk?

When they sense they're wearing out their McDonald's welcome, they arise en masse and head out for the steps. Stack has gone for a beer, and their day is off and staggering. I watch them go. Clay's calves, I suddenly notice, are swollen, distorted, distended, looking like Popeye's forearms grafted to knees and ankles. Poor sick fuck. He's dying, knows it, and doesn't much care.

You know where I'm going when I die? he sez. Chicago. The morgue.

And that great booming laugh.

An image of a toe tag attached to that swollen deformed limb takes up residence in my mind, and I shoo it away like a nagging, persistent fly.

This he said earlier: Wishing don't work. Whenever I wish not to see such and such a person, goddamn if he don't show up. And when I wish to actually see such and such, goddamn if they cain't be found.

Laughing. Booming. Barking at these lowering clouds.

The sky is threatening rain, and I have to be up at St. David's in about an hour. It'll take me half an hour or so to get there, so I have half an hour to sit here and tweak my head in order.

Smiley gone. I gave him a few papers, he laid some snipes on me. The little transactions of the street, one bum helping another.

Okay, okay. Halleleujah, I'm a bum. A Dharma Bum, if you will.

But a bum nonetheless.

This I begin my day on the 8th anniversary of 9/11.

Rain Is General All Over Austin

2009-09-10T16:38:00.000-05:00

***

And now we have the rain. Nothing wild or weird, just a steady little limp drizzle of a thing. A rain in need of Viagra, a fizzle of a drizzle. But enough to cause some damage. A few minutes ago I witnessed a young man on a motorcycle crash just a few yards from where I'm sitting. He was moving along very slowly when the rear wheel suddenly developed a mind of its own and decided to go thataway while the bike had other plans in mind. He hit the pavement--BLAM--and just as quickly was on his feet, pulling the bike back upright and jumped back on, only to think otherwise. He got off and walked it over to the sidewalk, where I went and asked if he was okay.

Yes, just minor scratches.

You're lucky, I said.

Yep.

And he rode off into the sunset, hopefully a bit wiser about oil slicks getting down with a bit of wet. Me, too. Slow and steady wins the day.

I'm starving.

Not really. I ate a bowl of rice with soy sauce a few hours ago, but that's all I've had for the day, aside from a coffee at McDonald's. Two creams, two sugars, two cups.

Hungry, yes, but starving, no.

Just feels like my insides have been scooped out leaving this huge vacant empty space. A vacuum. The emptiness of Inner Space. Ohwell.

When the letter didn't come, I was thinking this: well, your day has just been rearranged. You won't be off to buy the tobacco. You won't be heading for McDonald's for a meal. Nope. You're gonna ride up to Veggie Heaven and eat some free rice. Which I did.

And thinking this, too: that I would meet someone, see something, find something, do something I would not have done otherwise.

Well, yes. That's fairly certain. Met the Creeper. Saw the Wreck. Made a judgment re Brave New Books.

And found something.

What happened was I found a cell phone at McDonald's and have been trying to contact someone who can get in touch with the owner so I can get the bloody thing back to him. And (cough) hope for enough of a reward to buy something to eat, y'know?

And I saw a motorcycle wreck.

And I checked out Brave New Books and have concluded it's a twisted little place where conspiracies scurry about like insects hiding from a major insecticide spraydown. They were playing a film and when it started blaming the "worldwide Jewish financial moguls," I lost all interest.

Behind me the Stones are singing about Ruby Tuesday. How dated it sounds! I am suddenly back in the mid-60s, a young man full of angst and anger, ready to take on the world, and far too often... drunk. I miss the energy, but you can have the angst and anger. And the drunk.

Jesus. Elton John. 1973. Honolulu. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Remembering those grotesque portable cassette players we toted around back then. Still young then. Not yet thirty. Still lots of energy, lots of hope, lots of anger.

If they don't stop playing this music I'm gonna find a very low building and contemplate jumping. Maybe a porch on a very low building with lots of shrubbery around it.

Most of the passing cars have their wipers turned off. Perhaps I should wander down to McDonald's and see if I can hustle up something to eat. Or try to catch the food truck at 6 PM, should it happen today.

It will. It will. Just believe.

Down here on the street it's so easy to fall into Magical Thinking.

I am trying to create a Magical Day and not having a whole lot of luck at it.

Stay tuned for Magical and not-so-Magical Happenings. As they come down.

Peace. Food. Foam mattresses.

***

Follow-up to Cassandra

2009-09-10T13:50:00.000-05:00

***

Yesterday I wrote about meeting Ms. Cassandra there by the Scientology center. Aside from the obvious gift of having someone other than a streetperson listen to me, there was something else: I'd asked the Universe for cigarettes earlier. As in...how does this thing work, O Mysterious Cosmic One? Gimme some cigarettes, for starters.

Such a small thing to ask of the Universe. And there it was, courtesy of Cassandra, the Prophetess no one believes. How appropriate! She functions as the Messenger (in Greek angelos) and I chalk it all up to the Great God Coincidence. She waltzes up out of nowhere, announces her presence, delivers the goods (cigarettes w/o asking) then seals the deal with a name like Cassandra. Clearly the Cosmos has a helluva sense of humor. Cassandra, indeed. And of course I didn't believe.

The other day I wanted a bicycling helmet. Couple of days ago stopped to rest at a bridge and down below, in the drift and detrius, lay a helmet. I made my way down the treacherous slope, retrieved it, cleaned it up and as I write am wearing the derned thing. And...coincidence, of course.

The day of the triathlon I was at the finishing line cheering on the stalwarts when I noticed each of them got a dandy little water bottle. I instantly wanted one, of course, and looked around for an abandoned one but couldn't find nary a one. Then yesterday I came across the same kind of bottle with a slightly different design. Picked it up, took it with me. Coincidence again, naturally.

All of which proves nothing, I know, except that the Great God Coincidence is working overtime to produce some pretty cheap little communications. Yet the other day when Chris was telling me "How It Works," he also said that when he found that twenty on the bus after giving away his last dollar bill that he "knew" that God was real. Of course I wanted to believe all that, but my Skeptic is alive and well, and has a soapbox and megaphone.

How desperately we weave our interpretations to our own specifications, our own designs. A Navajo blanket of signs and symbols we have constructed ourselves. Yet I am as guilty as anyone else.

I was expecting a McDonald's gift card today plus a bit of cash. Didn't come. So I have another day until the cornucopia is open for business.

Two Latino workers were leaning up against the side of a building they were working on, their butts firmly planted on the sidewalk. I told them about my getting a ticket for sitting the exact same way they were. They were, of course, incredulous. For real that happened?

Here's what's going on with the cops here: they tend to apply the law very strictly when it comes to the homeless. No wiggle-room, so to speak. If a homeless person is sitting on the sidewalk, ticket him/her. They've even begun shutting the Pedestrian Bridge down at ten pm, claiming it's part of the park.

Once a homeless person gets hit with a big bucks offense (open container, for example, $300) the tendency will be for him to move on down the road as it will be some heavy community service.

I move through the day without having come across herb. Clear-eyed, so to speak. The grit and dust of the street rises up to meet me, and I ride through a cloud of unmet expectations, unwarranted anxieties, and misplaced happy endings to frog meets princess narratives.

Creeper was creeping along the street when I saw him out of the cornice of my eye, yelled out his name, and he came ambling over, all full of woe regarding Courtney. He became all bent out of shape when he saw her kiss a girl (I mean, dude, like I don't go for that kinda shit, ya know, Elijah?) and so the relationship that was so magical ten or so days ago has snarled into a Gordian Knot of incompatibilities. Life goes on as they each go their separate ways.

He walked off and a few minutes later I saw him chatting up a morbidly obese young lady. Not a Courtney, mind you, but perhaps all will be well.

So long as she doesn't kiss girls.

***

Peace.

Having Problems Getting On Yahoo Messenger

2009-09-10T13:34:00.000-05:00

This is mainly for Madame LaBelle: I'm having a hard time getting on Yahoo. In fact, haven't been able to since this morning. So...stay serene. All will work out. The letter was not yet there at the church, so surely tomorrow. Much aloha...

A Shout-out to Cassandra

2009-09-09T17:51:00.000-05:00

I rode up to St. David's just to check on the mail, only to find I was too late. Closed for the day. So back on the Beast and rode up to Veggie Heaven where I picked up a little foam container of rice and veggies which the good Falun Gong people had prepared for me.

And met the lovely Cassandra, Economics Major, who not only gave me most of a pack of cigarettes (and I didn't even ask!!) but also did some online research for and address for me. Much more of this later.

I'm closing this post down as I just lost a huge amount of material, and will have to rewrite later. At any rate, many thanks Ms. Cassandra. Keep following my musings and ravings as the blog continues...

Peace.

Courtney Update

2009-09-09T11:27:00.000-05:00

I haven't seen Courtney since the time she and her new b/f came by McDonald's. Day or two ago I heard she has a new boyfriend. Sounds like Creeper is history. New guy's name is Angel.

I think of Courtney as sort of a trailer-trash Brittney Spears. I ever get this computer working right, I'll upload some pics.

Keep on truckin', Courtney Girl.

Christopher Channels "How It Works"

2009-09-09T11:14:00.000-05:00

As some of you may have gathered by now, I'm one of a growing number of people who are starting to believe that we are living in a simulation. Think: the Matrix.

So anyway, I am thinking, If so, there must be a way to manipulate it or cooperate with it or some gawddamn thing. That's what I'm thinking: if so, what then?

So I just put it out there yesterday: How Does This Thing Work???

Today Chris walks up and asks if I need coffee money. He's down to his last old dollar, but that's when the giving is best. He tells me a quick story:

I was headed out on the Greyhound, had my ticket, twelve hour trip, and I was down to my last three bucks. So I'm walking along and this street person asks for spare change. I give him a buck. That's down to two bucks now. Walk a little further and get hit up again. Down to my last old dollar. The nitty gritty. So here comes another and he hits me up and, damn, I just can't do it, sorry. So he walks away and I turn to go my way and suddenly I just know I gotta give that man my last dollar. So I turn and chase after him and give him that last bill I had. Down to it, Bro.

Then he says, So I get on the bus, go to sit down, and there's a twenty dollar bill in the seat. He pauses then leans forward and in a conspiratorial whisper says, That's how it works!

So there I am remembering I'd asked a very specific question and the very next day this guy sits down and tells me how the derned thing works. To get ya gotta give.

Anywho, thank you again, Chris, should you ever read this.

***

Madame LaBelle mailed me a $50 McDonald's gift card plus $25 in cash, so it should be there today or tomorrow at the latest. The drizzle appears to have stopped, so later I should ride up to Trinity and see if it's there.

This is Elijah, your man on the street (literally), signing off for now.

Peace.

A Drizzly 9th of September

2009-09-09T11:01:00.000-05:00

I was up and at McDonald's before the drizzle began. The outside patio was a gaggle of the homeless, one of which gave me enough to make the coffee nut. I began the day with six cents, and now I have zero. But I'm just finishing up breakfast which was a blueberry pop tart one of the bums gave me.

Fed. Elijah fed by the ravens. Remember that? Biblical.

So Garret shows up and gets shorts on my Bum Blend tobacco rolled in hamburger wrapper. Inelegant but it works. The Barton Springs Saloon across the street is a very productive place for snipes. And snipes come in all shapes, sizes, and flavors.

John at the bridge the other night said that a top-of-the-line snipe cigarette would be a... Snipenheimer. Hmmm. And I suppose a cigarette rolled of snipe tobacco you don't like (such as menthol for me) might be called...BummerBlend.

Then Smiley emerged across the street and I yelled at him a couple of times before I caught his attention. He came, we rolled snipes, and sat there against the side of the building, just out of the damp. Eventually here came Darby, the singer/songwriter from Nashville, looking for coffee. He had an almost full pouch of Bugler, so we all rolled the good stuff. He took my cup and went in for a refill, and the guy at the counter busted him.

This yesterday's cup? the manager asked.

Nope. It's a friend of mine's.

Manager laughs and fills his cup. At least you're honest.

Darby comes back musing on honesty. Honesty will take ya a long ways, he says.

And still later Smiley and I cross the street to the tunnels, a fairly safe place to smoke a bowl. And in a matter of minutes, my head is no longer earth bound.

But I wanted to tell you about Chris. And maybe that one's kewl enough to deserve its own posting.

Laters.

The Homeless: Another Inconvenient Truth

2009-09-08T09:48:00.000-05:00

Yesterday evening I ate at the Salvation Army for the first time since hitting Austin some two-plus weeks ago. A hot dog, a ration of beans, and all the doughnuts you could eat.

The line was long. A motley assortment of the down and out, men and women in a scraggly line, their few possessions in torn and tattered bags and backpacks, jerry-rigged dollies. A few were over at the side, lounging on pieces of cardboard. The heat? Brutal.

Smoky turned me on to this place. At 4 PM they open the doors, letting ten in at a time. Inside, you sign your name to a clipboard, are given a ticket, and proceed up the stairs to the dining hall. Two liter plastic bottles of soda were on each table, and a man went around replacing them as they were emptied.

We eat hurriedly, almost furtively, and a few minutes later are back out the door to the street.

The Street.

It's the ultimate Sword of Damocles, the ultimate Judge. We move hither and yon, prodded on by motivations of hunger, ennui, and...movement for the sake of movement.

And while we're at it, a quick shout-out to LIFT beverage cafe. The good folks at LIFT have been more than supportive of our efforts to repair this computer, allowing us to use their wifi and electricity as we search for solutions. THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

I ran into Smiley last night as I sat on the sidewalk chatting with Madame LaBelle. I was looking for enough change for coffee (42 cents buys Senior Discount coffee at McDonald's with two refills), and Smiley was looking for a bus pass--which I just happened to have. The exchange was made, to both our satisfactions. He also had a burrito which he gave me, so the evening ended on the note of a full tummy.

Saw him again this morning at McDonald's. He passed along the morning paper--which I read--and then wandered off up Barton Springs Road, headed for the "hippie hangout." The hangout is not all that far away, right by the creek, and you'll find an aggregate of street people hanging out there, playing music, smoking herb, drinking, or what have you.

It's a favorite hotspot for ticketing by the cops.

They come by every day, and it's a rare occurence indeed when they don't issue at least one ticket. Meteor Mike and his lady friend, Ute, were hit the other day. Ute had the joint in her hand as the bicycle cops rode up silently. A couple of others were ticketed for open containers.

This happens again and again, and no one ever seems to think: hey, let's post some watchers down the path,some lookouts. Doesn't happen. And so the tickets continue to be issued.

I've never seen anyone outrageously drunk or obnoxious down there. Usually there's not enough alcohol to get a person to that point. Still, the law is the law. But where can a down-and-outer drink in this town that's legal? Bars are out of the question as they're too expensive. Can't drink inside one's home because we're all homeless. Which leaves...

The Street.

It's the same with sleeping. I am frequently exhausted by the afternoon, but to lie down and sleep in the park is a ticketable offense. So to catch forty winks, a person has to find some place which is out of sight, safe, and in the shade.

Smokey just rode up. He had a good night last night. He met a college student who laid twenty dollars on him as they parted ways. So...there is the open heart out there, the compassionate Buddha operating through individuals.

Lovely.

Today I must shower. Smiley have me one of those tiny hotel bars of soap last night, and I'm guarding it like the Treasure of the Sierra Madre. Smile. I will wash out my clothes as best I can, and let them dry on my body.

We are Inconvenient Truths. The eyes of the world move by us so quickly, dismissing us as irrelevant and somehow in the way. Understandable. But sooner or later the robots will be doing nearly everything, and there will be vast hordes of the unemployed. How will the government respond?

I think of the old Chinese curse: may you live in interesting times.

Indeed.

Interesting times indeed.

More later. Smokey hasn't said anything, but he's wanting to download some music.

Till then...much aloha,

Elijah

Progress....

2009-09-07T20:48:00.000-05:00

Some progress has been made in getting this little computer up and running. Obviously we're able to get online, but the virus is still there, buried in the innards of the machine, and my little IT guy is trying everything he can think of to get this thing going.

So...

There is so much to report, and so little time to do it in. My battery on this computer is finally working again, and I'm doing this from battery. So that's to the good.

I am disappointed with my posts of late. I'm not saying whatI think I need to be saying and I need to get with the program and speak it and shout it, as Bob Dylan sang, so that all souls can hear it.

But thanks for hanging in there for and with me. Will try to get something really nice written up tomorrow.

Until then...peace.

Elijah

Working on the little computer

2009-09-05T18:23:00.000-05:00

There should be a special place in Hell reserved for people who create computer viruses. We've been working on trying to get rid of the one I have in this machine, but so far no luck. But we can't infect anyone else, so the blog is completely safe.

Update: my breathing has gone from bad to worse. Lots of congestion, and I'm having to stop pedalling the bike much sooner than before--than even a week ago. Which makes getting from Point A to Point B a bit of a problem.

The food truck didn't come tonight, so that means I've had ONE meal today. And I was skinny to begin with. But there's no real danger of starving to death, so I'll just whine a bit here and get it out of my system.

Missed my morning coffee. Somehow I just wasn't up to asking people for the 40 cents I lacked to make the nut. (Coffee is 42 cents for the Senior Special.) So by the afternoon I had a splitting headache which only went away when I came down to check on the progress of my geek-friend who's trying to make bricks w/o straw, so to speak, when it comes to fixing this computer.

If I had a disk drive, he sez it would be no problem. But of course I don't have one. So it's...try this, try that. Trying to get something going that will work.

Forgetfulness Is My Middle Name

2009-09-02T10:26:00.000-05:00

Just so you know...I walked off and left my other computer (complete w backpack) yesterday, so I am relying on this one which is very...unreliable to say the least.

Madame LaBelle, if I don't post as frequently you'll know why.

New Campsite ...Courtney and Creeper

2009-09-01T13:09:00.000-05:00

It's Tuesday afternoon, and I'm sitting at Mellow Johnny's, typing madly away. A lot on the plate since I last wrote. Managed to load the entire "house" on the bike using only one bag plus my backpack. The blue tarp is rolled and attached to the front handlebar with bands I cut from an old inner tube, compliments of Madame LaBelle.

New campsite, btw. I came up about midnight, not far behind the heels of another one who was pushing his bike up that bloody Matterhorn. Spread the wet clothing out to dry on branches and bushes, eventually went to sleep.

This morning I slept in until 8ish, then got up and groggily put it all together. Packed out my second plastic bag of rubbish. Not the big black rubbish bags, but the smaller ones they give out in the grocery stores.

Why do street people trash things so badly? I've always gone by the admonition, If ya pack it in, pack it out.

Keeps things looking much much better.

I was sitting at McDonald's when Courtney and her new beau, a guy called Creeper came walking by. They borrowed enough to get a pack of Bugler, sat and talked awhile. He seems pretty enamoured of her. Kept talking about the job he might get flipping hamburgers, all excited.

And he has the irritating quality of continually talking about himself, interrupting others when they're telling a narrative because what they just said reminded him of something he'd...you get the idea.

Had to hold up my hand to cut him off. A bit of growing up to do. For all of us, no doubt.

I'm charging my camera's batteries here at Mellow Johnny's. More and more situations present themselves. And I think: why didn't I take a picture of Paul?

Courtney kept asking about Drifter, the guy she wrote the letter to after she'd had sex with him one night. He never replied to the letter. But still she has an interest in where he is, what's going on.

I've not seen him in two days, I said.

Two days?? He might be in jail.

Perhaps. The beat goes on, the streets are as mellow and mean as ever, and the little miracles approach me shyly, knock at the door, grin and shuffle.

A found phone. A generous and grateful phone owner.

Peace.

Generosity of Paul

2009-09-01T12:56:00.000-05:00

A gentleman named Paul showed up at the library shortly after noon to reclaim the phone he'd lost on the Pedestrian Bridge the night before. His reward was liberal, indeed, and it went a long way to paying debts, getting some essentials, and the like.

A gracious and a kind man. Thank you, Paul. You truly made my day.

Me ke aloha,

Elijah

The Magical Reappearance of the Bicycle Lock

2009-08-31T10:53:00.000-05:00

It's Monday, the last day of August, and the world shifts into gear again. Grim-faced people heading out for work. And a horde, a gaggle of runners, walkers, dog-walkers on the trails along the river. Never seen anything quite like it.

Had my morning coffee at McDonald's. It's a super-deal: 42 cents and it comes with two refills. This is the Senior Discount, of course, but it makes it lovely for an old geezer like me to get that caffeine fix in the morning.

I found a phone on the bridge this morning, and so I called and left a voice message. Of course I'm hoping for a nominal reward ($5.00 would be lovely!) but if not, no big deal.

And I found a large over-the-shoulder bag, somewhat the worse for wear abandoned down by the bridge; I checked it out, loaded it up, and it's working quite well thus far. It's bigger than the one I had attached to the rear of the saddle, and so of course that means more...STUFF.

You think just because I'm homeless that I'm not a pack rat? Grin. But the limited space imposes a certain discipline and puts a premium on STUFF that folds or rolls into small bundles. Nylon packs better than cotton. And yesterday I got some below-the-knee khaki-colored ripstop nylon capri pants, I suppose you'd call them. Much cooler than the blue jeans.

Last night was chilly. I awakened several times, wrapped in the blue tarp, feeling not quite comfortable. Finally I got up, slipped on the blue jeans over the capris and that was enough to do the trick.

Up by five. Why so early? The conventional "street wisdom" is that the cops start making their ticketing-rounds sometime after five, so it behooves the street people to recognize and honor that. Ergo, up and at 'em, boyz. Thank goodness for cell phones which have alarms and whatnot.

Lovely lady there where I got my capri pants. Some kind of director of community something-or-other. I'm terrible remembering titles and names, but she was very nice. Gave me a hot dog and some beans, so that took me through the day.

See how it is? When you first hit the street, it's all about chaos and not knowing what needs to be known. You don't know that the cops will ticket you in a heartbeat for the smallest little thing, and so when you DO get ticketed, you tend to pass that information on.

Yesterday, three men were ticketed for open container violations down by the river. They were drinking beer and wine, and it ended up costing them. The tickets, I understand, are $300 each. And that's a major ouchie out here. A week of community service. Bummmmmah.

Well, ya say, they shouldn't have been drinking out in the open. True, true. But where could they drink inside, being homeless and outside by definition? I, personally, am abstaining from alcohol. But what I observe down here at the nitty gritty level is that there's an awful lot of herb-smoking and quite a bit of drinking. Just the facts, ma'am, as Sgt. Joe Friday used to say. There's a lot of stress associated with being homeless, and the tendency is to self-medicate however you can.

Some of the street people are quite generous while others are devious and parasitic. Smiley, for example, is a very generous guy--and a sweet soul, to boot. I don't have his picture yet, but plan on catching him on camera soon. And of course I still don't have that cable which will allow me to upload some of the photographs I've been taking. Think I need to post a list of...THINGS I NEED.

Planning to bike up to Veggie Heaven (I think it's called) and see if they will fix me up some rice and tofu or whatnot. A bit hungry this morning, with no prospects in sight until this evening. That's a long time to be serenaded by the growling of the tummy.

Nuff for now.

Me ke aloha,

Elijah

THIS JUST IN: Just got a call from the owner of the phone, and he'll be here at the main library to pick it up in an hour. So....

There's lunch, as he said he most definitely would give me that nominal reward I not-so-subtly mentioned.

Tummy...growl away. Soon you'll be taken care of.

The Santos Angel(s)

2009-08-29T22:06:00.000-05:00

A couple of nights ago I went to "the Gathering" and apparently I somehow lost my bicycle lock. Which is pretty major, considering how many thieves scurry around this city. So I was in somewhat of a quandry. Obvious solution was to somehow find my way back up to that place I'd never been but the one time, hill and all, and hope to find it somewhere.

So I asked, was given directions, and actually found my way back to the top. It was a bit easier this time as I stuck to pavement rather than going cross country like when I was with the group.

But no lock. No tickee, no lockee.

Looked here, there, everywhere. And when you've done all that, it's time to say the Serenity Prayer. So there I am sitting on the bench resting when up walks Santos. He's exercising the dog, a part-pit bull, part-lab, and he tells me the dog is wearing him out.

We talk. Glory of glories, but it turns out he's in recovery, has his life back on track, good job, clean for years and years. That's always good to hear. So he laid a bit of his understanding of his Higher Power on me and I was totally good with that. More talk. Ten children by two marriages. Twenty-five grandchildren. Two great-grandchildren. Thirty-seven souls here on the planet thanks to him being here. (Well, he said, I had a little help!)

I tell him about losing the lock, my fear of losing the bicycle.

He sez, Got any tools?

"Yeah," I say.

Take the wheel off and take it with you. They won't steal a bike without a wheel.

It was one of those...DUH moments. Why didn't I think of that myself?

See, I was stuck in this box called the only way to keep your bike safe is to lock it.

And I couldn't get past that. So all of a sudden Santos comes walking up with a message I needed to hear.

And do you know the Greek word for "messenger"? It's...angelos. Angel.

I asked him if he knew how to tie an overhand knot in a scarf by holding and end in each hand without letting go of the ends. He tried this and that but of course it didn't work.

Then I showed him how it could be done, and he gave me a dollar. There ya go. Then he sez, If you're hungry, come on down where the balloons are.

And so later I did. They fed me, introduced me all around, and were just marvelously warm and friendly people. I took a couple of pictures of grandkids around the pinata. And one of Santos himself. So...if I ever get the little cable which will allow me to transfer my pics from camera to computer, you'll get to see him.

At any rate, Sr. Santos, your esposa, los hijos and all the grandkids and greats...much aloha from the man in the street you reached out your arms to one day. It was lovely to meet your family there, where the balloons were.

You're in my prayers. Y'all keep reading my blog now, you hear?

Peace.

Elijah Streetman

Oblivion Measured Out In Carefully Weighed Little Spoons of Despair

2009-08-28T11:13:00.000-05:00

Things are happening quickly.

I came into town Saturday last, knowing no one, and now, just a few days later, I have been accepted into a loosely knit tribe of individuals who divide their time between the Pedestrian Bridge during the evenings and the Barton Springs site during the day. I probably know and am known by at least fifteen or so denizens of the street by now.

This...tribe seems to live permanently in the Land of the Lotus Eaters. The goal seems to be the next hit of smoke, the next can of this chemical pleasure, that book of rolling papers, enough tobacco to roll a pinner. Oblivion measured out in carefully weighed little spoons of despair.

I met Courtney.

She's 19 years old, looks 17, and is down here on the lean and mean streets of Austin, doing her thang. She's the Sweetheart of the Rodeo, if you're looking for metaphors. The Princess of the Pedestrian Bridge. And I like her.

I mean, I can see her life, the entire thing unrolling in my imagination.

[Cue the theme song for Courtney's soap opera, clashing cymbals and thunderous drama.]

She's with this one guy (Snail) while her fiance is in jail (six more months to go) but...well, there was this other guy she met somewhere sometime yesterday, and poor old "Snail" just kinda shuffles along as she and the new guy grope each other. I feel sorry for Snail, but he seems to be taking it with a kind of equanimity one reads about in books with such catchy titles as The Heart Disconnected or Ain't No Big Deal. I can only imagine the torrent of emotions roiling along beneath that calm exterior.

My mother threw me out of the house when I was 13, he says matter of factly.

And the rock his stone-face is carved from...shows no pain. 30 years old, going on 13. Stuck in the tar baby of arrested emotional development. Still seeking out approval. A master at the whirling sticks. A teller of jokes. But not an alpha male. Too kind, too gentle. He's, well, boring. At least for a woman who's 19 years old and a hormone-driven machine.

Methinks Courtney is drawn to the alphas.

I don't want my heart broken again, she told me the other night.

I told her, Get used to it. It's gonna happen again and again.

Like noooooo waaaaaaaaaaaay, Dude, she said.

To her credit, she just hooked up with Snail two or three days ago and it's very much one of those "don't know" relationships. She doesn't know what to do. I mean, fiance in jail? Snail available but not so exciting...new guy (who knows what's going on w/ him?) and then the one she slept with after the drum circle the other night. He seems to have little to less-than-little interest in her now. What is not to her credit is how she shamelessly flirts with this new guy right in front of Snail. And a bit of the dazed look in his eyes, a bit of not wanting to look anyone in the fucking eye, dudes, like...you know....ain't no biggie but don't say a fuckin' word.

Small time hustlers move by the arse-busting benches of the Pedestrian Bridge. Wanna buy a joint? they ask. See? A bloody joint. And the collective shaking of heads nooooo, ain't got no money, Bro as he moves by with little lame feelers sent out, little crippled wishes: but I wish I could.... or ...sure could use a hit, Bro, hint hint.

The beat goes on.

The rhythm of the street moves from the Great Drought (where the fuck is the smoke????) to plethora where mota is leaping out of the cornucopia at ya and ya gotta gasp out, Nuff awreddy! Last night beneath the bridge, the rain just coming down rattatattat, felines and canines, and a circle of maybe eight people and four (count 'em) joints going, clockwise and otherwise. Classic feast or famine.

I sometimes feel that I have stumbled onto one of the lost tribes of Israel, the Lost Children who cannot grow up, but can only grow old. And I was accepted into this only because I could pronounce the shibboleth correctly. And, truth be told, I was on the streets long before any of these kids were even born. A long time ago.

For the older ones, those with experience, there is a tendency to protect what is there. By that I mean that they pick up after themselves, they urge the younger ones to put the rubbish in the rubbish cans rather than tossed over the shoulder into the memory shredder. They don't argue with the cops, they don't advertise their presence.

Yesterday, one of the guys got a broom and swept for at least an hour, cleaning the spillway rocks. Then the rain came and great acres of rubbish from upstream, all the flotsam of a disposable culture came rushing down the dirty grey-brown water. And it went on like that for quite some time until finally the waterways were cleansed and the stream ran free of plastic bottles and bags and the like.

I had to wade through the rushing water, bending to get through the little tunnel to where the Beast stood still in the midst of the raging current, coping with it all. Good strong old Beast. Good girl. Semper fi.

Courtney and Snail took me along to the Gathering. When we got there after this horrific hike, a group of 30 or 40 young people in various poses and costumes. One full-faced makeup, reminding me of a character out of a spinoff of Edward Scissorhands.

I felt out of place. I'd learned a magic trick a day or so before from a book in the library, one involving a bit of sleight-of-hand, and so I pulled my magic cord out and began practicing the trick. A young woman across from me began watching and finally said, Like, Duuuuude, what are you, like, DOing?

So I told her I had magical powers and blah blah and she said, Okay, show me what to like do, kay?

Within a couple of minutes her friends had gathered around as she tried and tried but of course could not do the knot. A freak named Sunshine came by, big man, and watched. He, too, couldn't get it. You're doing something, he said, but you're too fast for me to catch.

The dope was in abundance, a whirling mob of little priests and priestesses passing out the wafers of mota at the sacrament of the Gathering.

Bless me, Duuuude, for I have sinned.

Lay one on me, Duuuude, for I have sinned.

How kewl is that???

And just when the energy is building to orgiastic heights, two cops roll up on bicycles. The pagan in full makeup is caught both smoking a joint and drinking a beer--and is given a citation.

But the worst part is that the cops make everyone disperse. Another site is quickly circulated...like, kewl, duuuude, we'll like meet up over at yada-yada.

Which is too far for us. We the people of the street, in order to form a more perfect union...march slowly and dejectedly back to the...Bridge. One of the guys hobbles along on crutches, lower leg broken in five places, pinned. An alpha male, Courtney nervously hanging at his side. She cannot seem to see he has no real interest in her.

At the bridge, Tom called me aside. "Be sure to call me Tuesday," he said sotto voce. "I'm gonna have a shitload of money." Hmmmm. I suspect he might be open to getting the cable so we can upload some pictures. And just where did I put his number? Make a note to find it tomorrow.

He pulled out a cardboard sign he'd made. The caption read, "I'm just like Obama--all I want is a little change." Ahhhhh. Spare change. Clever.

A woman waltzes up. Tom rushes to introduce me. This is Elijah, he says pointing to me. Good dude, really like really good dude. I can vouch for him.

And later I began shivering, chilled. Had to climb on the bike and ride enough to get the blood pumping and the sweat beading. And when I lay my sorry old head down to sleep, I slept within the folded 8' x 6' blue tarp from Home Depot.

Loki and His Magic Didgeridoo

2009-08-26T13:18:00.000-05:00

Quotation of the day: "There's a difference between being homeless and being homefree. I'm homeFREE." --Loki, 26th of August 2009, in front of the Austin library, 8th and Guadalupe

Before I get to my "chance meeting" with Loki, a brief update. Last night I attended my first "Drum Circle" there on the north end of the Pedestrian Bridge. It was a hoot, to say the least. But I'll save that for a later post where I can go into detail.

Thing I wanted to mention was that I was riding the Beast along and spotted a one dollar bill lying there all abandoned and frantically waving her little arms, asking me to pick her up. Naturally, I took compassion on that pore little thang and gave her a place of refuge in my pocket.

She returned the favor this morning by providing me with my morning pick-me-up, a cup of coffee at (choke, gasp, shudder) McDonalds.

Okay, okay. I don't much care for McDonalds but they have "Senior coffee" for 42 cents (wow!) which comes with two refills. A rare bit of good karma coming from the High Priest of the Obesity Gods.

Began the long ride up to the main library. Stopped to take a few pictures of Juan Pelota's then walked the bike up the various hills, stopping wherever there was shade to catch my breath. By the time I made it to 8th and Guadalupe I was pretty well bushed, so I took a couple of minutes to pull my old act together.

Noticed a young street person on one of the arse-buster benches in front of the library. And young guy (turned out to be "Loki"--as in the Scandanavian trickster god) was carring a white plastic bucket inscribed with, "This bucket kills fascism." Also had a didgeridoo (man, I had to look that one up to see how to spell it!). And of course the old Streetman is always looking for photographs his readers might like, so here was an...opportunity.

He was chatting, so during a lull in the conversation, I gracefully but clumsily inserted myself into the conversation by saying, "Hey, brother, I like your rig. Mind if I take your picture?" And he graciously consented. Took a couple, probably should have taken more.

So here he is, but you'll have to wait for the picture until I get the upload cable. Loki: young, well-mannered, helpful. I asked him where the most "street-person friendly" place was, in his experience.

"San Francisco," he said. Ahhhhh. Grace Memorial Church. I remember it well. But it turned out that he'd never been to Grace, preferring to hang out in the Haight/Ashbury district. And of course his didgeridoo was useful in the Dept. of CC--that's Cash-Creation, for the uninitiated. Yeah, buddy.

Also had a guitar strapped to his back. Strapped for cash, if you'll pardon a very baaad pun.

Where do you eat breakfast or lunch?

He told me about Veggie Haven (or Heaven, not sure which it is). "What you do," he said. "is crack the door, hold up one finger, and they'll fix you up a box of rice and tofu or whatever."

And the price?

"Free, no charge."

Dang!

I asked him about his didgeridoo and he said that he makes them. Makes them?

How do you drill the hole?

"I use agave or pvc pipe. With the wood, I drill in as far as I can, then put some coals down in there and use my heat gun to keep them glowing. Keep some water handy just in case. Let the coals slowly burn through the center."

Ingenious, yeah? And the pvc??

"I use a heat gun on it, too. By twisting the pipe when it's hot, I can deform it and tune it in the process."

It turns out that twisting does one thing and bending does another. Apparently bending the heated pvc pipe allows one to search for the elusive note, "...usually E or C" Loki said.

Interesting.

So here was Loki, a free-spirit moving from place to place, homeFREE, no less. He explained that he was homefree by choice, that to have a home would mean being shackled to rent and/or mortgages.

And so he wanders, on his own little personal Walkabout. He was a delight to meet, and his gift to me was the gift of where-to-find food. And that is a kindness indeed. Go in peace, magic Loki, kindred spirit.

Thus does knowledge of the street pass along. It's an oral tradition, one person telling another, word-of-mouth moving from person to person, a long freight train of oral transmission.

Finally it got to me.

Now you have it, too.

Free...no charge. Sometimes...to keep it ya gotta give it away.

Me ke aloha,

Elijah Streetman, Semper Fi

Senator Edward Kennedy Dead....

2009-08-26T12:28:00.000-05:00

Just a very brief post to honor the late great Senator Ted Kennedy of Massachusetts. I was fortunate enough to attend a lecture of his at the University of Hawaii back around 1980 or so. He was in fine fettle and exuded compassion and composure. Just a real deal of a human being.

He gave us so much. And so much was taken from him over the years. The loss of his brothers, the lobotomizing of his sister Rosemary, the death of his nephew John Kennedy...the list goes on and on.

So this day, the old man of the street, will be thinking of Teddy and holding him close.

Rest in peace, old boy.

An Angel Named Barbara Stopped By Just Now...

2009-08-25T11:29:00.000-05:00

You'll remember I mentioned Barbara from Switzerland the other day? Well, in my last post (which was just a few minutes ago) I had signed off and was about to climb on the Beast and head out for the library when suddenly this lady rode up and called out to me.

Barbara, as I live and breathe. Be still my heart.

So she sat down and we chatted. Both of us smiling like crazy. Showed her some of the pictures I've been taking and she was properly effusive and impressed. Great lady. Then she insisted that she take some pictures of me, so I'll post them when I come up with the little cord. Amazingly enough, the camera didn't break. It's a Samsung S630. Does 6.0 megapixels and is plenty good enough for my purposes. Tough little critter, too.

Then we took a few of us together. How beautiful it all is. She is just one of those people who has a beautiful soul and fantastic energy, and you can't help but feel like there's a kind of goodness, almost...holiness about her. First Allen, then Barbara show up to make my day.

How fortunate I am!

Barbara...you go get 'em, girl!

Much peace and aloha,

Elijah

At Juan Pelota's, Grooving....

2009-08-25T11:07:00.000-05:00

It's 10:34 am and I'm sitting here at one of the tables outside Juan Pelota's, certainly an extraordinary place in so many ways. It's the first installment in the adventures of the day.

I'm functionally broke now, and there's a certain relief in that. Kind of a "Whew, glad that's over!" No more watching the spending with a gimlet eye. Now I can relax. I have broken through that massive barrier called flat-broke and, hey, it's another dimension altogether. Kinda kewl in its own way.

Allen was on duty. On duty. Isn't that a heckofaway to talk about him? I mean, there he was just this fountain of information. So I asked, "How long you folks been open?"

"Since @$#%burblewalluspup," he said. I forgot to mention my hearing isn't what it used to be. I asked him to repeat it and he raised the volume a bit and slowed down. "It's been a year this May. So we've been open...what? Fifteen months now."

Very kewl.

"And what else can you tell me?" I asked. "Details, please. The readers demand details, the more dramatic the better."

"Well," he said, "you know that Juan Pelota is a nickname?"

"Oh?"

"Juan is a play on words. Kinda sounds like 'one,' right? And pelota in Spanish means--"

"Ball," I said. Might as well show off my meager Spanish while we're at it.

"Right. So...'one ball?'" He's looking at me like everything should now be perfectly clear, but it isn't.

I'm waiting for the punchline.

"Lance Armstrong owns this place," Allen says. Big grin.

Now that's--and suddenly...ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I freakin' get it. Lance was diagnosed with testicular cancer and had one testicle removed.

Jeez, the cleverness of it. I feel like El Pendejo finally coming in out of the rain.

He also walked me through the punning of "Mellow Johnny's." Apparently it's a pun on the French for "yellow jersey," Lance's colors. Mmmmm, doesn't that speak volumes about this place?

Then he showed me the bikes in the other room that Lance rode. There are four there, and I just came back to the big notebook computer from asking for more information.

The first bike is one he rode in 1996 while he was sick. "That's why that one's so significant," I was told by a very helpful young man.

The yellow Trek was one he rode in winning the Tour de France (date not available). And the other two are also winners.

I walked around the display room just a bit, feeling somewhat guilty to be a pauper in the midst of such gleaming and wonderfully constructed machinery. And of course I'm a bicycle junkie who is currently riding...junk. Oops, the Beast heard that so I can expect some rough pedalling today. Royal Purple Majestic junk, I must add. My mechanical Sweetie who lugs me hither and yon.

Personal history tidbit: In 1973 I rode a Fuji with sew-up tires from Lawrence, Kansas to Boulder, Colorado. It was one of those peak events Maslow speaks of. Molly rode all the way with me, and we stopped in every little tavern all the way across the sweltering state of Kansas. August of 1973. We camped, we drank, we made love, we laughed, and we were young and our lives stretched out before us like a highway whose end is so far away it's beyond the horizon of the possible. I was still immortal then, if you know what I mean. And the trip was so extraordiary, it made me feel so wonderfully alive that I promised myself I would do this again and again.

But that was, what? 36 years ago this month. And I've never done anything like it since. Shame on me! (Maybe this Vision Quest will qualify?)

Now I am drinking some delicious coffee in a place owned by Lance Armstrong, who is surely a quintessential American Hero. I'm feeling so honored and delighted to have stumbled on this place. Again, a tip of the hat to Darrin, the barrista at Blu. Darrin turned me on to it.

And you know what? Sooner or later lots of people will be reading this blog. And when that happens I want to ask you to do yourself a favor: keep Juan Pelota in mind. Their coffee is just right, their service is terrific, and they gotta have one of the best bike shops on the planet. If you're gonna buy a bike, why not buy it from Superman? Or the essential equivalent thereof?

And tell 'em Homeless Elijah sent you. Smile.

I just started this blog a couple of days ago, and I have some ideas for creating readership. Yesterday I made up some invitations and will have them printed out. Fortunately, I have enough coins for the copy machine--I think. If not I can do them by hand.

It's all good.

This is Elijah, your man on the street, in the third day of his Vision Quest. By the very act of reading this, you, too, are on the Quest. You're with me. Someone whose life I have touched, however slightly.

Good to have you here. Bookmark me? I'll get RSS going once I figure out how to do it.

The coffee has given up the ghost. I will push on.

Much peace and aloha,

Elijah

On Pedestrian Bridge, 11:05 PM

2009-08-24T23:48:00.000-05:00

It's an hour short of Shakespeare's witching hour, and I'm sitting on one of those butt-numbing benches up on the bridge. And what a bridge this baby is! If Austin never did another thing right, they did some major on-top-of-the-situation when they made this thing.

Here's how it is tonight: two young lovers sitting down the way, their voices low and murmuring, nothing really recognizable wafting to us. But that doesn't matter. Young love is pretty much the same everywhere a person goes. Been there myself some decades ago, and it's kind of a lovely thing to see the hormone-monkey on somebody else's back for a change. I'm old enough now that I am not led around by the nose of my second chakra. Not much, anyway. Well, okay, a wee bit. Still, a lovely thing.

To my left is Tom, a good old boy who spent the day actually volunteering his services for eight hours or so--and this is a guy who sleeps on the street and yet manages to reach out to others in need. I don't know about you, but I think that says an awful lot about who he really is. Very nice, methinks.

And this: cardboard laid out for Tom to sleep on. A palatial bed down here. A few feet away, a man on a blanket. And others on these bum-numbing benches. A community of sorts. A community of the down-but-not-quite-out crowd. Been down for a long count but we ain't reached the count of ten yet and I think some of us are gonna struggle back up on our feet.

And Chet Nichols sang, back in the 1970s...."...gimme the count, boys/Is it six or eight or ten?/And have I been down so long/I'll never get up again?"

I've asked Tom, sitting immediately to my left, and who's been reading this over my shoulder, to come up with some words of wisdom or sass or whatever so I can pass them along to you.

And here's what he said: "Faster horses, younger women, older whiskey and more money. The secret to life, the song said." And he leans back and laughs.

The young man on the next bench to my right has a broken leg, dressed out in a stylish cast of sorts. High-tech bone-fixing. Another real-life example why we need real health reform. I could point out a dozen who need some kind of health care but won't get it because the system has been designed and tweaked to leave them out. I am not trying to be some kind of whiner here. This is just how it is. Reality lives by its own rules.

"Useless eaters," Kissinger is alleged to have said of us.

And I say us because I am very much a part of all this. I'm here on some kind of quasi-spiritual Vision Quest, it's true, but I have a few physical issues myself that I've learned to more or less live with: a hernia that needs repair and is just getting worse and there's not a bloody thing I can do about it.

I am reminded of Mary Lou Wingate in John Brown's Body by Stephen Vincent Benet:

               "...staring at pain with courteous eyes;
                when the pain outwits it, the body dies."

Stop complaining, I tell myself. Focus on what you DO have.

This night just seems to be beginning. The story goes that we can sleep up here so long as we get our funky selves up off the concrete and the benches and hele ( that's Hawaiaan for move) on down the road before 5 AM. That's the saying hereabouts, the wisdom of the collective mind. And of course it's always subject to the whim of change. They used to leave the street people alone on Pedestrian Bridge, I'm told, but now the pressure has increased. They come now with the book of laws, and more and more they are going with the very strictest of interpretations. See below.

A data-base emerges from the collective experiences of the street. Hear about Brian? Used to come up here? Found him dead. Yeah, some signs of violence.

And...so-and-so was ticketed this morning. Another this afternoon.

Even I was ticketed today. Here's how it came down:

I was down eating the free dinner from Loaves and Fishes and went across the street to eat the food. So I'm sitting there on the sidewalk, leaning up against a black wrought-iron fence when of a sudden two bicycle cops come up out of nowhere and corner me and a black guy who'd just been smoking ganga. He looked worried and I felt none too fine.

The upshot was that it's illegal to sit on the sidewalk. And the unspoken subtext was that "Ignorance of the law is not excuse." Bingo. I sat there while the officer filled out the ticket, a bum with glazed-over eyes caught in the headlights of the system. So I signed the ticket, promised to show up. Arguing would have been futile, even counter-productive. It would have made things worse. So we were both polite and went with the flow of the unequally enforced law. Cops know, and we know, and you know that a crowd sitting on the sidewalk in some of the more upscale parts of town would have been left alone, or at worse given a warning. We were just nailed.

I want to talk more about this at some future date, but for now there's some bare nuts and bolts of the deal. There was so much texture: the adrenaline, the you-gotta-be-kidding-reaction, the suppressed sense of injustice which clamored out to be heard, expressed.I came away from the experience relieved that I didn't have to go to jail. And also...pissed, dammit. I was doing nothing worthy of that public humiliation. And it is a shame and a discredit to the Austin Police Force to have their men out there violating the intent of the law.

I'm told the law was originally passed because the Drag Kids were massing on sidewalks and effectively blocking traffic. So an ordinance was passed prohibiting the sitting on a sidewalk. But it was meant as a specific remedy to a specific problem. And then the particular of that intent was generalized and the cops just started running with it. Another tool in their arsenal of harassment.

Okay, okay. I'm pissed. I'll get over it.

VULGARITY ALERT: WHAT FOLLOWS IS A VERY EARTHY COLLOQUIALISM USING GROSS SEXUAL IMAGERY. IF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE SKIP THIS PART. IF NOT, COME SIT BY ME.

So here's Tom and he's been thinking about cute and clever sayings and this one is just kicking at his chest walls and throat, clawing its way out, like that monster popping out of John Hurt's chest in Alien. So let's let him get it out of his system: Here's one of his grandad's colorful (cough) sayings: "That's tighter than a preacher's dick in a calf's ass."

I told you it was gross. Tom is roaring with laughter now, looking at me to see if I appreciate. Yep, I do. KindaSorta.   Sorry, but Jimmy Swaggart just suddenly popped into my head...heading for the barnyard...Lawd have mercy! That's an image I do not want to hang onto.

Ok, just think of it like this: Tom is this great big Falstaffian character, for those of you who know Shakespeare. Yes, Falstaff. Larger than life. Reincarnated and living on a bridge. Bluff, hearty, but one you wouldn't want to mess with. This clown has a wicked right.

And this just in (from his grandpa): "If I tell you that a rooster can pull a freight train, hook up."
In other words, my word is my bond. Kewl, eh? I love these colloquial sayings.

And this final jewel: "I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy." LOL.

Enough for tonight. Time to ride off into the darkness.

Much peace and aloha,

Elijah the Homeless

"I Rode Into Nazareth...."

2009-08-23T19:34:00.000-05:00

Isn't that how the song goes? "Rode into Nazareth, I was feelin' bout a half-past dead?"

I rode into Austin this time on the 22nd of August with $17 and change in my pocket, the beautiful Madame LaBelle driving like a bat out of Hades with me nervously riding shotgun.

We both knew I was headed for the mean or not-so-mean streets of Austin. It made her sad. Made me feel like...gawd, what's it gonna be like this time? A sense of anticipation and adventure, though, which was absent the last time.

Personal history tidbit: I became homeless on Thursday, the 10th of June 2009, and began a fall from grace not unlike Icarus when he flew too close to the sun. Burn, burned, burnt. Toast. Free falling as I ran through what little financial cushion (savings) I'd put together. The whole thing was like some kind of cosmic baseball bat come swinging through the ether, connecting upside of my head, leaving me bewitched, bothered, and bewildered. It's hard to think straight when the specter of homelessness is right there, like right in front of you, and it's growling and frothing at the mouth and you just know it's some kind of pit bull from Hell and it's got your number.

I took the Greyhound to Minneapolis just to check it out, and left a day later. Lovely city but gawd the winters. Greyhound again. A four day stint in Austin which turned out to be four days in Purgatory. Hot, hotter, Hades. Trudging up and down those hills with a backpack filled with too much stuff. Standing in line there at the park whose name I don't yet know, waiting for a little sack lunch from the Loaves and Fishes ministry.

Madame LaBelle came and picked me up, drove me to Houston, and gave me a couple of months to get my act more or less together. She provided me with a...how shall I say it? A major upgrade when it comes to the street.

She loaned me her bicycle. It's one of those Wal-mart knockoffs which could stand to lose about twenty pounds. Think: hefty. Rethink: heavy. Kinda tough for an old man on the wrong side of 60 to get around on, but I'm grateful to have her. I'm calling the bike the...Beast. She's purple, the color of royalty. Squeaks when I brake, slips and slides and complains, but basically gets the job done. She's a good old girl and I'm growing quite fond of her. She's my little Beast of Burden.

And now I'm jumping ahead in time. It's Monday, the 24th of August, and I'm sitting at Juan Pelota's little coffee shop down here at 4th and Nueces. Helpful hint: never get behind me in a line. I have the uncanny knack of always picking the slowest line (which I submit as prima facie evidence of my psychic powers) and this time was no exception, even though there was but one line. In the absence of other lines, one will do quite nicely. The lady ahead of me put in an order which took forever to fill, and I stood behind her meditating on the philosophical implications of eternity, patience, and acceptance. This helped: "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference."

A charming and attractive young lady from Switzerland named Barbara just gave me some information about coffee shops here in Austin. I'm looking for something...down-homey. Comfortable. I'd feel good being in a place with chairs that don't match, tables obviously destined for a yard sale in the not too far distant future. Where the refills are cheap, the wifi works, and the staff quickly makes you feel welcome. That kind of place.

A place where everybody knows your name, always glad you came kinda place. Like Cheers, the old tv sitcom. Do they make those kinds of places anymore? And, more importantly, is there one in Austin?

Barbara is headed for Ecuador, Columbia, and Chile. Speaks Spanish. Looks to me like a Free Spirit. Whoever reads this, please join with me in sending her good vibes and wishing her nothing but the very best as she moves through life. Thanks. And Barbara? If you read this (as I think you will) please bookmark my blog and stay tuned to my little adventure. I'd love to hear how things work out for you! You're the very first person I gave my blog addy out to, so that alone makes you very special in my books! Big hug, girl!

And a quick shout-out to Darrin, barrista at Blu, for pointing me to Juan Pelota's.( I had coffee at Blu's yesterday, a smallish cup--very tasty--which set me back $2.11 with tax.) He's a very handsome, kind man who went out of his way to make me feel like a real human being. Thanks, Darrin!

And now Barbara is gone, riding off on her bike. I felt a little sad to see her go. ("I did but see her passing by/And yet I love her till I die." --anonymous) We come into each other's lives for a moment or two, then move on. And who can say if her information will change the direction of my life here in Austin? Just as Darrin pointed me to Juan Pelota's and led me to a fantastic large cup of house coffee and a chance meeting with a Free Spirit from Switzerland?

I will probably add more to this later in the day, but for now my fingers are starting to run out of gas. Running on empty. And there is so much that I both want and need to write about, things which have already happened.

In future posts I'll be talking about what it's like to be homeless here in Austin. The search for a good and safe place to sleep. A safe place to stash one's personal belongings so as not to have to lug them around. People I've met, including but not limited to the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Might as well add Smugly while we're at it. Where to get food. Coffee. Internet access. You know, the basics of life in the 21st century.

AND...I do have a little digital camera. But when I became homeless, I forgot to bring along the little cable which allows me to transfer my photographs from camera to computer. I want to add them to the blog as I go along, so you'll be able to share visually in my life a bit. This cable is one of the vital things I need to do this blog right so bear with me while the Universe brings it into my life, no doubt via the agency of a human godsend. I'll do some research soon on cost, availability, etc. As it is I don't even know where the nearest Radio Shack is--or if they would even have something that would work. We'll see.

This adventure isn't all about drama followed by cliffhanging quick cuts. There will be a lot of slow parts. So think of the little cable as being just a piece of technology which will help connect me to you. You who read this. Once I get it, I'll post a pic of my lovely old mug so at least you can wave at me when we meet on the street.And do feel free to give me a shout on Yahoo IM. My user name there is jean.deaux. (That's jeandotdeaux)

Last night as I was sitting up on that marvelous Pedestrian Bridge (what a fantastic skyline Austin has!), it came to me that I will not get up off the street by myself, that there will be a whole host of people I will meet who will reach out that collective hand of Aloha in friendship. I know this is coming as surely as I know anything. And i think that's kind of exciting. I have no friends here--YET. I know no one by name other than Darrin the Barrista--YET--and a few street people who spend their nights on the Pedestrian Bridge and sleep during the day.

In my life I've been both broke and quite comfortable, been up, been down. Back in the '80s I was averaging a bit more than $100 net an hour creating and selling t-shirts of my own design over in Honolulu. But that was then. Now I am here, older, and hopefully a bit wiser, and I have no idea where this adventure, this trip, this so-called Fall From Grace will go.

But I believe this: that I am here to learn something. And that I am here to share something with the people the Universe puts in my path. Here's where you sashay in, Stage Right. Yep, that's YOU. You're most definitely a part of this cuz how am I gonna write all this down if I don't have an audience to read it? I also believe that YOU are here to teach me in some way. And for that, I honor you. Thank you for showing up for my life.

Soon I'll write about my first night here in Austin. I may call it "Sleepless in Austin" or "Cops Gone Wild!" We shall see. I've got the notebook computer charged up and tonight I'll go to the Pedestrian Bridge and try to write something for y'all to read. Gawd, the skyline. Surreal, majestic. Quick aside: I rode and walked the Beast down to the Frost Bank building. I was hoping there would be some information about it, but if there was I didn't find it.

Came to the main library at 8th and Guadalupe, did a google, and discovered that some people think the building is an Illuminati rendering of the pagan god Moloch! I have my own ideas which I may get to tonight.

So...to my very few readers...a hui hou. That's Hawaiian for, roughly, until we meet again.

Me ke aloha,

Elijah