whoamless

...barf in the lump in the throat... that's how bad it feels to be at odds with someone you care about. [...details deleted...]

So what kind of father could a homeless man be? He could pretend to be a woodsman - though he's never been much of an outdoorsman. A traveling salesman - selling... pity? Nahh! - and certainly not soap. Or, half a witness to Jehovah? The census guy! No, I'd have to ask the question "how many children reside here" and then it'd be all over. Hmmm. Acorn - the grassroots org, that is. Which makes me think a severe diet of lentils and beans by choice doesn't sound that bad. Awe fuck it, who am I kidding - I'm no organizer, no motivator of adults. Pretty soon this whole sham of a structure, my e-life, too will be unavailable and the isolation will be unbearable. Or rather the complete exposure, the involution of my being, the implosion of the ego, will be tantamount to complete submission of my body to earth. This must be how it happens, though; how one accepts it. The outside world suddenly seeming sanctuary and a safer place than the indoors - the indoors where one shares a large room with too many other grunting, writhing, drooling old men. Who wants to listen to, smell, see that?! So, the street must seem an almost liberating experience. When I was a kid I used to talk to the trees. I guess it's time to reacquaint myself with the local 21st Century Citizens (yes, that's a reference to the photographer August Sanders). August came across quite a few travelers. Some of them were called Gypsies, Rom. And sadly much worse. I suppose the life of a rebel or foot soldier for some peoples' resistance would be more honorable, though no more sedentary. But what would I be resisting? And whom would bear the sting of my words much less a revolver. Perhaps the life of a monk would be more apropos? To alienate rather than be shunned. Homelessness as a proactive event. Sure. That rings a little truer, a little more pallatable. But, really... how about travel writing or better yet, street documentary, Studs Terkel or perusing the entire landscape like August Sanders, the photographer/artist's eye capturing, establishing a kind of inventory of the many faces of the Twentieth Century? Fool, you need a patron for that sort of enterprize, unless you're independently wealthy. Or it's annonymity... it could happen, you know... and it is happening - too close to home.