Incipient Vagabond--Verily

I live here.

It's kind of illegal. Illegal enough for the cops to arrest me if they enter the premises and find me here. Which is kind of exciting but makes for very tentative friends when it comes to visiting. The true friends still come over, though :)

It's been an interesting, exciting, sometimes lonely and depressing, but mostly awesome and mindwarping experience. I have reconciled it with my existence, and my roots, and formed it into the image of something I want to be associated with. I've always had trouble turning ideas into concrete realities. This has provided me a fantastic venue for it; it's exactly what I was hoping for. See, I moved in out of necessity. At first, it wasn't pretty. But I put some time into it, and risked quite a bit a few times, but because I stuck with it, I have thrived. When I began, all I did was hop a fence and find a concrete awning which would protect me from the elements, threw down a sleeping bag, and crashed. I lived off some residual cash I had in the bank, along with the goodwill of a few friends, and their ramen. But I could tell (or I at least felt it to be so) that I was putting strain on our relationship. So when my scholarship came in, I bought them a 30-pack and ditched asap. Since then I've gotten arrested, had to lie to the assistant dean, accrued some utensils, built a firepit and a garden, and collected a bunch of things (though after a while I get to feeling bogged down and purge my possessions to the bare necessities).

It was interesting, because from the start I had access to the building but it was so creepy I would only venture in there a few times, to look for useful things and perhaps devise a way to set up shop in one of the classrooms. But I didn't have any tools so for the time it was tough luck. I finally got to climbing on the roof, and after I got threatened by the cops to get out within 7 days, I dared to move to the other side. While at first I was hesitant, I haven't regretted it since. The new side has a concrete ground, except where there are plants, trees, and shrubs around the perimeter (these are courtyards, if you can tell in the photo). I was tentative about moving over, because I was sure the drug addicts were on that side (I found evidence of drug addictions when I found boxes of rubber bands, needles, and antiseptic wipes). But they weren't. They've come back twice, since, but I bugged 'em out, I think, with my positive and productive attitude. I wasn't having their shit, and I let it come through in my persona.

Yet I soon discovered that I had close access to answer my prayers, so to speak, for a classroom to convert into a living space. As much as I enjoyed the fact that I had a zenful, beautiful, and clean place to make camp, I was concerned about a coming rainy season and was glad to have this opportunity to become more 'civilized' in my alternative lifestyle. It actually started when I was sleeping one night, and was awakened by the queer sound of showtunes coming from somewhere on the other side of the wall perpendicular to my head (actually, you win... my admiration... if you can name the song, it's the intro to Antique's Roadshow but it's a classical piano piece and i can't think of it). Some kids were in there, and as I came over to hear it, and realized that I could see into the building, I thought of trying to get their attention and having them try to open the door. I thought better of it (I didn't wanna scare them off) and instead climbed over the building and snuck up on them (one of the many perks of living here). I introduced myself as 'sandwich'; I made it up on the spot and it actually kind of worked. Anyway, come the next day I went in there and found that there was only a metal plate and some screws preventing me from conquering this room.

It's comfortable now, I have a king-size bed and candles, a stove and water tanks; a meditation pad and a burgeoning garden. I've become a freegan and haven't had money in my bank account for the better part of 8 months; instead I can devote my attention to schoolwork and volunteering with organizations.

I wrote out a few lyrics about this:

Ain't got a dollar,
Not even a dime
Got just a few friends
But it's no paradigm
You see I survive
Oh yes in fact I thrive
And I've got plenty of time
I pursue my own ends
With no compromise

So I've vindicated myself; now I think I'll post more diddies with shorter timespans in the future; I'll ask for inspiration and post some of my tribulations, share some anecdotes and fun projects. Ciao!

Oh, hey didn't see you there.
Okay, this layout is boring. I'm going to fix that.


Have I told you that I have a list of ideas a mile long? It's filled with such gems as:

Stopping at the convenience store to pick up some smokes and a cup of jokes

Dreams can carry connotations of surrealism, lack of awareness, and delusion, for dreams are a product of our mind and therefore susceptible to all the flaws inherent in being us, and at the same time mysteriously immune to all the laws of physics.

I love you, I just realized (but don't take it personally).

Yes, it's dangerous-I should know-I try to do it as often as possible

These things are all kind of jumbled in there together. I want to organize them, but I'm not sure how I should. This is separate from but symbiotic with my journal; in fact all of my creative efforts rely on this for inspiration. I keep it because I tell myself I might someday use them for writing rap songs, or directing movies, or writing stories. But how should I organize them? One-liners, journal entries, miscellaneous, or what they regard, such as science, art, daily life? Is there a service for this? Do I even want to do this?

And while I'm conducting this reverse forum, what do you think of my writing? is it too wordy? Is my message jumbleD? Is it too esoteric, and abstract and difficult to follow?
What about my ethics? If you are here, then you've probably seen my facebook. Why do you think nobody talks to me? I really don't have any friends. I'm not sure if I push them away, or give bad vibes, if they try to avoid me or if what I say just plain doesn't invoke popular reaction.

Next question; this is what my hair looks like write now.




What should I do with it? Cut it, let it keep growing and pull the hispanic pony-tail look, spike it, mousse it back, mohawk, dye it radical colors?

Let me know, I guess. As of write now I plan to let it grow so I can slick it back kinda, ponytail it, an antonio banderas/hispanic thing.

And now, since I told you before that I'd have "tangible" tales, stories of real experiences that I've had, I'll just give you a preview, and you can ask me which you'd like to hear. I've got plenty: living in an abandoned school, going from San Francisco to Ventura, then on to San Diego, to find my father and get to a training session so I could learn to install solar panels. Or there's the time I did crystal meth by accident, or rock climbing at Ocean Beach, in which I found crabs and a pair of Rhythm Heavens and got stranded at high tide. So there's your preview. Maybe I won't have any responses, maybe this post is too early in my journaling life, but hey, it's good practice.

It is for my garden, at least. Not so much for my lifestyle. I have taken to swimming again, and started a rock climbing class that I paid for with leftover scholarship money. Yet, my schoolwork suffers. I've noted before (to myself, to others, in my journals, perhaps to you) that I cannot study anything prescribed to me by others for that merit alone; there must be something otherwise compelling about the material or I feel that it is the last thing I shall do to get done what they prescribe. Perhaps there is some underlying psychological disorder in that. That I take the world as secondary to my own internal being. Yet, on the other hand, I am intensely lonely so often, only to be reintroduced to this world with ephemerals of light. How doth one fit in with the outside world when they are so consumed with developing themself that they neglect even their studies? That is ironic, I know. Just suck it up and do the damn work. But it is not so easy.
I search for signs that I am not the only one in this boat, that it is more deeply-rooted in a sociological problem. The rationale is there; video games are more addicting and more intense and more involving every day, the internet provides 24 hour entertainment for any individual, I am in college and am American and have not been raised with discipline or respect for work before play. But it takes one of such poorly-threaded moral fiber as myself to succumb to it all in such a pathetic way. I live in an abandoned school, that I may avoid a job. I stay up all night, that I may procrastinate and accomplish all my work without compromise. I succumb to my nearly every indulgence and pressure from the outside world.
I have recently read two works which support my sense of self, and another which revolts against it. The first are the book Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse, and an article on Thomas Jefferson by some guy who wrote a book about him (source). It is known that Jefferson had an agile mind, one of the powerful intellects that collided to set the foundation for this most wonderful country (as far as you believe the textbooks... I guess I do). Yet he is commonly criticized for having held slaves to the day he died, was a womanizer and has various other moral blemishes on his profile. He was no master of self-discipline, though he was pragmatic and tried to distance himself from emotion. This verberates in harmony with my own dyscordian rhythms. Same with Steppenwolf, I am incapable of reconciling the wolf and the man within me. I become anima, and loathe myself for the dirty scary uncivilized thing I become; I become human and loathe myself for losing touch with nature and adventure and sensation. i haven't finished the book yet so hopefully it will give me some insight on how to reconcile this.

Finally, after so much deliberation on how pathetic I am and incapable and paralyzed and incorrigibly burnt out, I begin to read Siddhartha. Hesse is the master of young male psyche struggles. I feel so predictable and silly for going through these crises that others have worked through, and have been universal themes of the passage of life since thought.
Now what really stood out to me in Siddhartha was the passage

"He already knew to feel Atman in the depths of his being, indestructible, one with the universe."

So beautiful. This became my new mantra immediately, and within moments I was reciting it to invoke the sense of capacity it offers. I CAN DO WHAT I WANT. I AM INDESTRUCTIBLE! I called out the day after I read this, from the dunes of fort funston after meditating at the midpoint of my run.

And to say all that, in the end, at least I feel. I cannot regret anything I do if it leads me to a deeper empathy with the universe, or a sensation or emotion on which to hold for the future when (godhelpme) I become trapped. Hopefully my writing will simply improve and I will be able to find a niche expressing my experiences (less in such an abstract and superficial way and more in a compelling and universal-truth-discovering journey-way).

So, more tangible posts to come. In the meantime, I'm going to create a mandala