On The Road With Al and Ivy: Archive Site: August 2019

"I have made a silent compact with myself not to change a line of what I write. I am not interested in perfecting my thoughts, nor my actions."

- Henry Miller (Tropic Of Cancer)

"But get hold of Tropic of Cancer, get hold of Black Spring and read especially the first hundred pages. They give you an idea of what can still be done, even at this late date, with English prose. In them, English is treated as a spoken language, but spoken without fear..."

- George Orwell (Essay: Inside The Whale)

I look at Tropic Of Cancer in 2019 and have to think; these days the internet would be eating Henry Miller's flesh, or doing it's best to ban the book without being so uncool as to actually openly proscribe it. Which isn't an indictment of Miller, as the same thing would happen to Jesus or Buddha if they had an online presence.

It's a book that's been canonized like an ancient Saint, kept on a virtual shelf and treated as a sacred work that everyone knows is legendary but rarely read; a cult work that's like a 60s era Ken Kesey style test of cool. Author Tom Wolfe once described the test in an interview about his book, Electric Kool Aid Acid Test, where Kesey would separate the posers from the pack by suggesting something like having them they all go riding on bikes naked, or as Wolfe later phrased it, "See my wings! (You don't expect me to fly do you?)

If Tropic Of Cancer came out today, it would quickly bring out any hidden social conservatism with it's smart mouthed whacks at Jews, mannered literature, society, women, or men considered below him for one reason or another; topped off with chest thumping about Homeric level sexual prowess, and graphic descriptions of vijay jays and other adjuncts to his lust.

Miller's prose reads like someone getting his jollies by saying things for shock effect as much as from any personal conviction, though with a virtuosity that elevates even the coarsest passages. He simply said aloud what many men think or say in unguarded moments in locker rooms or drunken stag parties.

Like many works of genius, it's uneven, and the most brilliant moments are when Miller is rubbing his booty all over the classic novel form, though saying it's brilliant isn't the same as saying it's "good," a quality that, to paraphrase Orwell, is impossible to quantify. However, for it's time and place in the 30s, it was ground breaking, particularly in America.

As far as the cliff notes stuff, you can google various sources on the book, take in the wide range of opinion and comment, and get a detailed sense of context. I should add, my comments aren't asserting that the book is a classic everybody would love. It's a work that would polarize even the most liberal crowd, though interestingly enough, though the book's sexual point of view was male, the publishing was financed by Anise Nin, who at the time was having a intense affair with Miller, and well on the way to becoming a literary legend in her own right.

Tropic Of Cancer is a classic case study of what do you do (or wouldn't dare to do) with your first and possibly only shot at a book in an of gate keeper publishers and snooty literary critics.

Most of us would, understandably, treat it as an audition and try to create a best seller. A smaller percentage would try to create high art, a brave few would follow some sort of personal instinct or muse, and the very rare soul like Miller would trash convention and commit the ultimate act of rebellion in Western Culture; knowingly writing a book that had no chance of selling (I exclude the 10,000,023 books didn't sell despite the best efforts of the writers and publishers. That figure is off the top of my head, but could be close to an actual figure on the Internet).

...the legend...

The legend of the tome is that of a bold, crude groundbreaking literary masterpiece, but it clearly wasn't written to "impress." It has the chaotic flow of an actual human mind, with all of the details that would ordinarily be left out of a conventionally structured work. Miller's joy in being an artist is palpable from the first page, and he happily describes every peeve, dislike, crappy insult and put down that one can't say aloud in the modern Internet era without pissing someone off.

You can talk about the new boundaries of kinky sex to the literati, for example, but making rude and cruel remarks about their appearance, genitals or religion will still get a rise a hundred years from now even when the outer limits of sex, violence or shocking violence have been reached.

Miller's unfiltered prose, which ignores structure, grammar or any evidence of inner reflection, seems to spill out as his senses take in sights and sounds in real time. Kind of like walking through a zoo, for example, your impressions would constantly change and come out as sounds, words, sentences and maybe phrases, and not well crafted paragraphs.

It works, even when he's at his most obnoxious, because it's said without guile, like how a child blurts out truth, and because so much of it is brutally funny. Miller does establish right from the opening pages that he's no better than you, that the book is not from a person who puts on airs or someone slumming with a bunch of artistic low brows, but as a member of a larger group that relates to each other without a lot of the normal social norms, like how a family talks to each other.

It's early admirers were mainly other writers and artists, many quite famous, and though it was banned in the US, most who heard of it only knew it was banned for obscenity because it was labeled that way, not from any exposure to the actual work (though it was bootlegged).

...faith...

Such third party knowledge isn't unusual, we all grow up knowing or believing a lot of things on faith. Even the hippest minds have rarely seen actual proof of every belief, and take cues from higher authorities or writers from the past. That can create the paradox that censors and gate keepers are the most "free," as they can see it all before passing judgement, and if a work is deemed safe to see, it's because those who actually saw it said so.

When a modern feminist writer in the 70s called the book sexist, I'm sure some of her fans then refused to read the book and just repeated that it was sexist and so on, and that view is both wrong and right as we're really talking about taste. Censorship isn't always about protecting the public but also the control of ideas according to this or that influential person's preferences or sense of morality.

Which is at the heart of what makes Tropic Of Cancer great; the "moral courage" to write a book that was banned in it's time for obscenity, and was arguably like Galileo arguing that the earth wasn't flat. Both were just describing what was really there, not what others were saying was reality.

What the book "said" (or how it did so) is no longer important these days, when shock value is just standard marketing for artists vying for attention from a public that has so many options. People can get more sex, violence, or cheap thrills in a video game, movie or drug than any book.

What is important are the ideas that permeated the book, particularly one that's relevant even now; that a life is created, a decision. That no matter what limits a society imposes, the mind is always free to choose. Even in the face of emotional or physical oppression, one always has choices. What got you in can also get you out.

More than that, the idea that Miller was an artist because he said so; not because someone else agreed, or because of a book. He didn't ask for any validation.

That would be like a woman who was truly free of any definition imposed by male culture, or a man who could walk away from any societal definition of success or manhood. Where rules didn't have to be followed or even broken for that matter, a totally unfettered state.

However, that's an ideal, like Utopia. Compromises are necessary in the real world due to having to eat and pay bills, but it's easy to end up surrendering a lot more of the self than life really demands. One can unwittingly follow paths or adhere to core beliefs that are really imposed by others.

The Internet, for example, is an environment where manipulation is rife, and not just from "Big Brother" or corporations. It's easy to rebel against a concept like "the machine" or "the man," but not against peers, priests, experts, commissars, or publishers for that matter who can wield direct power over you.

...courage my boy...

Showing moral courage almost always involves real consequences, whether it's punishment, loss of income or respect of peers, and it's not reasonable to expect it from everyone. When a rare individual shows it and takes the consequences and perseveres, it's worthy of admiration and should be seen as an example that inspires.

I think Tropic Of Cancer is on a high level of courage. Miller's book might have never left the banned list, his life condemned to a romantic state of poverty, and in America be regarded as an obscure foul mouthed loser who wrote a book that didn't sell squat.

He didn't know all that at the time, of course, it was just an opportunity to write a book, and instead of trying to match his idols like Balzac or Joyce, he wrote what was in his head, warts and all. Unlike a lot of modern artists, he was concerned with a very personal vision that didn't take a possible "market" into account.

He lived in 1930's Paris, a scene that clearly understood that at first genius might only be understood by a few, and that if one was going to fail, it was just as well to do it being yourself. Also, there was a convergence of events and people, like Anis Nin willing to finance the book, that a modern management firm would find difficult to reproduce. That is to say, they could do it, but only if willing to risk money on a clearly uncommercial product.

It was a free moment in time that won't be seen very often in the western world, which in this day and age, equates money with success, and risk adverse investment is the operating mode of cash.

But, if you accept Miller's attitude, that great art has to come from a free mind; that is to say your's, not his, Kerouac, or Stephen King's, and are willing to risk failure, then something immortal can be written, and years later, can still be read with amazement by even the most jaded reader.

Not all jaded readers of course, thanks to the Internet there'll always be people who'll dismiss, troll, be offended by, or hate the book, but I think Henry Miller would have found such reaction funny, and even a validation of the book.

...a punk digression...

Talking about what one does with an opportunity reminds me of the first gig by Ointment, a punk band I was in back in the late 70s. We were fourth on the bill, scheduled for 15 minutes (which for a punk band still meant around eight numbers or so). It was at the then infamous Mabuhay Gardens in San Francisco, and getting a regular gig there was as good as you could get in that scene.

Our band leader passed on the booking director's instructions, which I still vividly remember. He said "punk is still very new, so we don't know what's good yet, so if the audience cheers or boos, it doesn't matter, but if they sit there and don't react, you don't come back."

As a matter of record, we got yelled at and insulted (and yes, the lead singers did their creative best to provoke everybody) and since we only had 15 minutes, it was easy to pretend that we got boo'd off the stage. One image that sticks in my mind was the dozen or so people who were flipping us off as we left the stage. I later learned that it was actually a sort of salute from that crowd.

It earned us another booking (as seen in the poster), and the lesson was that the biggest sin in art is to be boring.

Whatever else Miller was, he wasn't dull. 1930s Paris is history now, and what Miller described in his book topped in shock value several times over, but the sheer guts it took to write that book has rarely been matched since.

"The voice came clear, “Haaallooo, the camp.” Every man stiffened. Four of them faded a few paces back from the fire into the darkness. They had “papers” on them, and though they were protected by the code of the trail … every rider of the trail herd would fight to the death in their defense … there was no sense borrern’ trouble from a nosey lawman."

"So it was that Josey was concerned about the horses...But too many times in the past years his survival had hung on the thread of his horse..."

- Forrest Carter (Gone To Texas, Josey Wales, Two Westerns)

"Josie Wales" was a 1976 film starring Clint Eastwood in the starring role, which was well received both by the box office and critics. It was based on Forrest Carter's western novel, "Gone To Texas," with the main character Josey Wales based on a true life "bushwhacker" from the Ozark Mountain region.

The movie was fairly true to the book, and did a good job of depicting the post civil war period in Missouri and out west. The book was published in 1973, and as a result had a more sympathetic view of the Native American characters than earlier eras. The 1976 sequel, "The Vengence Trail Of Josey Wales," is notable for it's portrayal of a young Geronimo.

What's interesting about the book was that the underlying code of honor was like earlier systems like Chivalry, which over time became what people thought was a real way of life, full of noble archetypes like the noble knight or later on, the gunslinger who always let the other guy draw his gun first.

There was something to that, of course. All myths spring from some kernel of truth, but in most cases are created to illuminate a perfection that rarely exists. The noble Knights certainly showed respect to peers, superiors and at least paid lip service to protecting the weak but in medieval times the safety of peasants could depend more on their economic value as serfs and the fact that there was little honor in killing one.

...the anti-hero...

The advent of the "anti-hero" in the 60s was essentially a demystification of the noble archetype, and the early criticism of movies (and books, etc.) that had morally ambiguous heroes was, in retrospect, based on defending the values the earlier paragons represented.

We're not necessarily talking about virtue. The hero myths reinforced the social order; the noble Knights were considered better than the average person and Chivalry was theoretically about the responsible use of power. Even in modern times, the idea that a true gentleman protected women was as much about respecting another man's property as it was about regarding them as human beings (if the man cared to do so, enforcement was generally on the honor system).

The title of "hero" carried entitlements; like being free to lord it all over others below him, and rape and plunder in wartime, which were, thanks to paid Bards and other toadies, glossed over with poetic phrases about gentle champions and great feats.

The anti-hero was a sort of democratization of the classic hero image which gave a commoner the same mythic virtues and of course, the same prerogatives like sinful sex without having the Church damning him to hell, being able to kick ass on non-apex males and all the other fun stuff that a medieval Duke could indulge in. That not only riled up Society's betters, but also those followers who were playing by the rules and resented some guy cutting in line.

Such non-mythical exceptions are illuminating but frankly not always relevant. We do enjoy fables and mythology, and like the validation of principles and ethos that show a path to higher things. Chivalry may have originally been a game played by the privileged, but such ideals resonated as every modern man became a King (the concept of every woman a Queen is still a work in progress).

The exception to modern chivalry is, of course, the Internet, which is still a law of the jungle type trip and about 80% porn (that figure is off the top of my head, but seems about right) and is an exception to the normal evolution of society. It can thus be disregarded in this discussion about higher things.

The mythology that underlies both the Josey Wales book and movie, of honor and moral courage, may not have been the reality of the Wild West, but was important in terms of what people think is virtue, and where it can be found. What people admire about the Wales character was that his decisions had no material reward in mind, and even put him in deeper danger; but his sense of honor dictated that he protect those in his care, and couldn't do otherwise unless he was willing to betray his own sense of self.

...moral courage and the harder road...

It's difficult to give a real life illustration of moral courage in art, even when so many artists claim to be "rebels," which isn't the same thing as bravery in any case, so a good example would be someone who in real life chose a hard road to freedom that many wouldn't take, and paid a very high price for it.

One of the characters in my book is a woman who could only escape physical and emotional abuse by going homeless. She once believed her husband's promise that she'd be well taken care of and so didn't develop any real job skills and accepted social isolation as part of the required devotion to him. More than a few women would sympathize as that's not just a choice common to the homeless.

She reached a point where staying in an abusive environment would destroy her, and left. That was when he decked her for speaking out of turn. Her only friends were other women, who had to help her on their own without support from husbands. The only males who offered to help wanted sex in exchange for it.

The Ex did his best to punish her, hiring a lawyer to block custody and even contact with their child. He didn't pay any support, which forced her to live with an older schizophrenic son in an old Van, which was later towed away by police and both forced to live in a smaller car that she could barely pay for.

She was on waiting lists for services, but was only able to get some medical treatment for her older son through the county. Her decision to leave was treated as abandonment in divorce court, and the side with the pricey lawyer won.

Yet...she never regretted leaving. She didn't view the situation as punishment, and clearly understood that her old state of mind was a trap. Living in a car was the price of freedom, but she didn't give in to it. She kept applying for jobs, and found a part time situation and held it. There was also odd jobs like dog sitting for other homeless (like me) for what we could afford to pay.

She once saved Ivy from a couple that attempted to steal her, took the dog into her own car and drove off while the "respectable" couple threatened to call the cops. That happened a lot out there, people bullying and trying to intimidate us through our pets. That was no small deed. A police call on a homeless woman of color could be devastating, possibly resulting in the loss of a car that would remove the one real protection a single woman had in that scene. But she was responsible for Ivy that night, and protected her as her own.

Take away the image of irresponsibility in leaving "a nice house with a good provider," which was what a lot of former friends asserted before they quit talking to her, and you see that it was the course of survival and freedom. Only a cold heart would think she'd done something stupid.

It was a hard road out of a destructive situation, not a deserved purgatory for shirking the proper duty of a wife. The price was high, and she had to deal with the trauma of years of abuse while coping with a tough life, taking care of a schizophrenic teen, and two dogs.

She did everything right; keeping herself and family clean, avoiding drugs and alcohol, working as much as she could, constantly communicating with agencies that could help, going to church, and resisting the temptation to trade sex for rescue. If her luck turned, she wanted to be ready (I can't tell you how it turned out, that'd be a spoiler).

All she had to do was turn her son over to authorities to be committed, abandon her two dogs, and given her youth and good looks, find a guy willing to give her an easier life. She couldn't do that, being determined to bring the family out as a group, like the character Josey Wales does in the book. We admire such courage because it is exceptional, and a validation of our better side.

...protocols and good manners...

Certain other elements of the story came to life out there. That in a dangerous atmosphere, people revert to protocols like those described in the Josey Wales book, and that if you had a running car, it was as precious as any outlaw's horse.

Those street manners, for lack of a better word, have been described in earlier blog entries, like observing someone for a while before approaching. Many of my actual contacts tended to follow a definite sequence which I don't claim was, or is true for all street scenes. The protocols didn't have names. It was just the way things were done.

There were good reasons to be cautious. You never knew who was approaching and what their motive was. Most of the contacts were routine but when something bad happened, it tended to be sudden. As a result, I never acted approachable (not the same as acting tough or hostile) and developed a strong sense of vigilance.

There was no hurry to make friends, or do anything rash. It was, in essence, imposing a barrier of time and distance to prevent surprise.

When somebody approached, I rarely made eye contact. That could be misinterpreted as a challenge if the person approaching was belligerent. I quickly checked to see where Ivy was. People stole dogs out there for various reasons, from quick resale for cash, to "rescue" them from a homeless life, and in rare cases practice dogs for dog fighters. I always stayed in front of her.

I always acted a little slow, almost stupid, as contrary to what you see in movies, most people aren't aggressive with the mentally ill or slow. I never did anything sudden, as that could trigger a defensive reaction. This all happened in a few seconds, and it was generally understood by the other that I was just being careful.

Once the conversation started, it stayed casual, though some personal details might be exchanged (how long you been homeless, where, etc). If anyone asked what I had in the car trunk (the other stuff in the car itself could be seen without getting fancy), or if I had drugs, I'd always humorously say no and plead poverty. I didn't keep drugs, but getting upset could be seen as hiding something, and someone would probably come by later to see.

Asking overly personal questions, particularly about possessions always signaled an end to the conversation. I'd generally say "nice talking to you" and say I had to head back to the rest stop up north and as a precaution, head south instead. I had valuables in the car, most of all Ivy, so there was no point in sticking around after possibly being "cased." One time I did stick around and later someone did try to break into the car while we were out on a hike.

...my mother the car...

Which is why I made such a big deal of having a running car in my earliest blogs.

I'd see people who didn't make gas a priority and shake my head. One couple would panhandle cash, then buy a nice dinner and beer and party it up, and next day be trying to raise gas money and one day, couldn't raise it fast enough to escape being towed. Once a car was towed, that was it. Unless you had money for the towing and storage, the car was gone and everything in it.

The Josey Wales character makes it a point to ensure his horse always had oats to eat, not just grass. In a desperate situation, the horse was stronger with the better nutrition and the extra endurance could be enough of an edge to escape a tight situation. Once I was able to get the car running again (with the help of the Internet), keeping it that way, no matter what, became the top priority.

I saw what happened to many of the "back packer" or foot homeless.Their chances of getting out dropped like a rock. The police knew this, and in most areas didn't mess with your car, because they knew that once it was towed, the person's shelter and whatever possessions in it were probably be gone for good, along with what little chance there was to get a job. But if you couldn't leave when asked, they'd have to cite you and eventually tow.

I referred to it as "movement is survival" and other than dog food, there was nothing more important than making sure the car was running. There were days when Ivy and I had to split a cheap sandwich, but gas came first. When financial help began to come, we could eat better but not unless the food could be stored in a car.

When the summer days hit 90 degrees, we could move to shade or head south to the coast where it was cooler. Last year when I read about a homeless guy dying in Gilroy during a heat wave, I recognized the area as it had very little shade and was very hot. The particular highway in the news story had lots of businesses on it, so it was ideal for a panhandler who had to get around on foot, but no one could live there in the open during the summer.

The car gave me an option that he didn't have.

...buddies and friends...

I did meet people, and some became good friends. It wasn't all about caution. Without them, things could have gone very badly. That's another element of the Josey Wales story that resonated, that friendships mean a lot.

I recall one incident, where my old iPhone fell out of my pocket and was lost. You won't always get it back in regular society, as Apple products are eminently resalable the black market, but a homeless couple found it and returned it.

The guy said an interesting thing; that they would have just sold it for cash but the screen saver was a photo of Ivy, and they remembered "the Asian guy with the little white dog." Purebred toy dogs were rare out there, particularly white ones. The guy added, that once the iPhone had a clear owner, returning it was the honorable thing to do. They did require me to identify the phone, but everyone does that with a lost phone.

The couple were outlaws, in a sense, and had to leave town rather suddenly when the Sheriff Deputies came looking for them. To this day, I have no idea why, but my impression of them was positive. The guy made it clear that they could be trusted, and later the couple watched Ivy while I attended a week long employee orientation class.

Both were expert panhandlers, and had to be. Both applied for jobs all over the area but their criminal records made it a futile search. A lot of the detailed info in the book about street begging comes from what they told me.

I remember one conversation with the guy. We were talking about the trouble in the Middle East (yes, people had intelligent conversations out there) and he smiled, and like in the Josey Wales book, made sure there was a "no offense stranger" preface as he said, "I don't mean any offense, but why are you here?"

I didn't know what he meant and asked why, and he replied, "you're obviously smart, and should be working at some computer place." I had a laugh about that remark, as people often don't know that working at a high tech company often doesn't require any more intelligence than other places, and just replied, "if I was as smart as you think, I wouldn't be here."

The full conversation is in the book, with much more detail, but what struck me at the time was that his manners were right out of a Western novel. Part courtesy, part caution.

...the law...

There was no "law" out there, at least in the sense we normally expect. We see movies and TV shows where someone threatens to call the cops and it makes the other back off or reconsider their actions.

That can work sometimes, I'm not saying it never does, but there are people out there that simply aren't afraid of "the law." Crooks know that most of the homeless won't call the cops and that all they have to do is prevent you from calling 911 is to take the phone away.

Even if a call does get through, there's still the time it takes for help to arrive, and when they do, they're likely to treat everyone as suspects (assuming the thief or attacker actually sticks around). They won't necessarily come as rescuers for one of the parties. Looking at it from their point of view, they aren't told that a bad guy is making trouble with a good guy, but that there's a "disturbance" or possible theft and the situation needs to be sorted out.

In other words, the "law" is really just a veil or social training that hopes to keep criminal behavior in check, and most of the consequences are after the fact. One time an ex-homeless man told me that he was stabbed with a knife while trying to defend his girlfriend from harassment, and though the attacker was caught, well, he still got stabbed. Getting justice is a different thing than protected by the law.

There was plenty of law after that incident, but there was none at that moment, which was more than enough time for the guy to get "pinked." If other homeless hadn't intervened, he could have been killed, and the law would have made no difference in that guy's fate.

Bob Dylan once sang "in order to live outside the law, you must be honest." Even if the normal social norms aren't present, people tend to adopt behaviors and procedures based on caution, and respect. That respect may be based on fear, but most systems of law are the same.

Caution isn't just a homeless thing. Women have to use it when walking alone at night, tourists are always reminded not to leave their belongings unattended in an airport, that house and car doors shouldn't be left unlocked, and so on. It's just common sense to be careful.

In a homeless area, you're generally in close contact with strangers, and like in the suburbs or a condo complex, may never get to know the neighbors (or get along with them). The difference is that there's no walls, fences, or law to keep each other apart.

In such groups of strangers, it's tempting to think such scenarios inevitably become like a "Lord of the Flies" situation, but that's not a given. In my book, there is a situation where it got like that, but as a rule it was very much like the old West, at least how it was described in books or depicted in movies. There were "towns" full of strangers and thus protocols.

One key scene in the book and movie, when Wales meets the Commanche Ten Bears and they agree to not fight, and the chief says that words "must come from men" and not governments or pieces of paper. It was about words with "iron" and honor among men.

That's the mythology of the Wild West. In the real world of the streets, I found both people of honor and swine, but the greatest lesson that the Josey Wales story taught was to always take care of your horse. In other words, realize what's really important and protect it.

That's not mythology, but common sense.

"Authors, in writing novels, usually act as if they were God, and could, by a broadness of perception, comprehend and present any human story as if God were telling it to Himself without veiling anything, and with all the essential details. That I cannot do, any more than can the authors themselves."

"We can understand one another; but each one is able to explain only himself."

- Hermann Hesse (Demien)

...mental illness part two...

There's a tendency to view mental health as a fence where people are on one side or the other, that is to say, mentally ill or "normal." That's part of the old human habit of creating in and out groups, which results in people rigidly adhering to appearances or being judgmental about outliers and nonconformists. That takes a toll on those singled out, but also on those who become fearful of not being seen as normal (and control themselves and other's behavior to enforce a norm).

The Internet can make people feel like instant experts, which used to be the exclusive province of actors, journalists, and politicians. The basic idea that information is the key to good judgement has devolved into "credibility" and who has it.

Which isn't surprising. It's one thing to read a book on the subject and feel more knowledgable, but quite another when the person is overwhelmed by millions of bytes of "information," much of it contradictory but all backed by "experts." It can end up a matter of who you believe.

High tech engineers have no illusions about data, even if the marketing people rhapsodize about the information age. The programmers have an old saying, "garbage in, garbage out," which is another way of saying that the computer is really a big dumb machine.

People think data makes the computer smart, and by extension, those people with access to data. Which can create informed decisions but also doesn't protect you from liars, con artists, political organizations, sales and marketing departments, and most importantly, yourself.

The worst thing that the data age has done is turn probabilities into certainties. That is to say, to use an obvious example, a stated 20% rate of men who cheat on their wives can become a judgement that a man is "likely" to cheat or is predisposed. Most "profiling" is based on percentages generated from data.

...decisions, decisions, decisions...

The Internet has made masses of data available but it hasn't made us any "smarter" than a medieval peasant, who probably could survive in his or her environment better than a modern person could. We talk about the Middle Ages and all the garbage they threw onto the streets, for example, and we've merely improved on that by dumping into rivers and oceans.

Mental health, or the knowledge of it, has been helped by the Internet. Not so much the data, but in hearing and seeing people talk about it on personal terms. One realizes that it's not something that only happens to "others" or the sinful.

I read articles about the homeless and a good portion of them are simply described as "mentally ill" and the image that defines it is virtually always some guy who's pooping on the sidewalk or something. That person becomes a data point, or the reader's picture of the mentally ill homeless.

If I don't call behavior "crazy" in the book, or put a label on it, then one can read the passages, and possibly see that they've felt that way at one time or another, or saw someone they loved act like that. Categories and labels are useful, but can trigger automatic responses that have nothing to do with the book character.

There's a scene in the book, which I'll share a part of, because it's a good example of how a person might look to different people.

I was in a waiting line at the pharmacy, and a guy in front of me was upset that part of his prescription wasn't given a refill. He was a homeless person I'd seen around, and my prescription was actually the same. The pharmacist was trying to explain that the second medication would be fine for his panic and anxiety attacks until the problem with the other med was resolved, but he got upset and looked like he was going to cause a disturbance.

The others in line began to back away and show fear, but having also been treated for anxiety and panic disorder, it was clear to me that what was going on wasn't much different than what I'd seen at other pharmacy outlets. So I just stood there, knowing that once the guy's anxiety cooled down a bit, he'd realize that there was enough medication for the condition.

People are now more familiar with anxiety and panic attacks, so the sight of a person getting worked up over a sudden change in their prescription wouldn't be so alarming in a Walmart pharmacy lobby, but at the time, the fact that it was a homeless person colored the bystanders perception of the incident.

...first draft reflections...

In the first draft of my book, I describe various incidents involving mental health, including a misguided attempt to get prescriptions through the County Psychiatric Emergency facility (bad advice from fellow homeless) where I was almost ended up being committed due to being zoned out from sleep deprivation (and the resultant hallucinations).

That was a close call, but in retrospect, an incident full of dark humor if one is so inclined. There is definitely such a thing as a "Kafkaesque" situation.

I saw a lot of problems with the passages in the second pass; which accurately described the incidents but was also full of later judgements and emotions, which colored how it really happened, and was unfair to the County Health workers who as a whole, were very sincere and helpful, and just as frustrated with the system as the patients.

I found once again, it was better to just tell the stories, and not try to label the behaviors. There was a temptation to invoke standard images, like with the shopping cart crowd who as a rule (from what I saw) are harmless and deserving of compassion.

There is a population of mentally ill people out there, and it took a few months before I could see them for what they actually were. I entered homelessness while still being treated for anxiety/panic disorder, and insomnia, and like many others, lost access to the prescriptions due to red tape.

That didn't mean people didn't do anything about it. Some developed routines to keep moving and in my mind, keep endorphins in their systems. Others self medicated with drugs and/or alchohol, or were overcome by their symptoms. That's not including those who got there because of the drug scene, though even there were those who would have liked to get out of it if they knew how or could get treatment.

How I coped is detailed over the course of the book, but the daily hiking routine that was described in earlier blogs and gofundme updates was part of that, plus diet and herbal solutions.

...we can manage all right...

The most important advice was given to me by a doctor several years before. She told me that once on medications for anxiety and panic, to use that as a "breathing spell" while learning to "manage" the conditons. It was advice that I ignored at the time, like most who just lean on the meds, but it became relevant out there.

The doctor explained that a panic attack could "break through" the medication and that even if I took another dose or used something like Xanax as a band aid, that I still needed to learn to function while the attack was in progress, and not just think of taking a pill.

Most people who've experienced a panic attack know that it's a very unpleasant feeling. In fact, many first learn that they're having panic attacks when they found themselves heading for a hospital thinking they were having a heart attack.

"Managing" was in essence, the ability to realize that one was in a panic attack, and coping with the symptoms until it passed. In my case, I also had to go through about a month of severe withdrawal after losing County aid due to a bureaucratic mistake. That turned out to be the easy part. The situation out there in the car was dire enough that craving meds seemed trivial, especially after being driven into the high crime areas, and the anxiety-panic attacks came on.

The doctor was right. What I was thinking and how I reacted to an attack was important. One of the things that helps manage a panic attack is talking to somebody while it's happening. That wasn't always possible, so I'd talk to Ivy, and didn't think anything of that because most people talk to dogs.

I mentioned the shopping cart people, and why I understood them. In my case, it got back to me that I had become a regular sight in some places; this guy carrying a little white dog in a fake Gucci bag (it was free, so I didn't care) all around while appearing to talk to the sky or whatever. I was actually talking to Ivy, of course, but they couldn't know that.

Some might call that nutty or strange, but I thought of it as managing my symptoms, and while it never completely eliminated the panic attacks, the doctor was right; if I could view it as physical discomfort, then it could managed.

I'm not saying that a person who keeps their belongings in a cart completely knows what they're doing, but like me, they're generally just trying to solve a problem. That statement may not make sense, but in the book, realizing that explained a lot of things about the people around me, and that included some who weren't homeless.

I'll continue with part three in a future blog entry...

...Ivy's first command...

One of the first things anyone does with a new dog is to teach it commands and how it responds to that training can color how the dog is perceived. A dog who won't obey commands can be seen as "disobedient" even though it would probably never dream of trying to be the alpha over a God that brings food that doesn't require hunting or fighting to get. Even if it is crappy dry cereal that no human would eat.

Ivy was a shitzu, and like others of her breed, was born to command. Shitzus, or as the ancient Chinese referred to them, Dragon Dogs, are famous for being nearly untrainable, and who instead try to train their masters. Unlike most women who have to deal with men with fragile egos, dogs like Ivy dispense with the torturous concept of making it seem like the guy's idea and just apply the whip as needed.

Like most dogs, the first command was "sit." Which she would comply with if shown food. Otherwise, the word had no meaning in dog language, like the word "please" among humans.

After several attempts to get her to obey the command without obvious reward, she decided to teach me how to properly give the command.

It started one night when we were traveling south in 2009, and stopped in for the night in a motel. She jumped up on the bed, and eagerly wagged her tail, which didn't always mean she was happy, but was ready to eat.

I was still unpacking, and realized that it'd be a good idea to set up a water bowl, as dinner wasn't going to happen for a couple of hours. I filled her food dish with water, and set it on the bed. She quickly thrust her face into the dish, then looked up and then sat down in the classic "sit" position with a stern look on her face.

I didn't get it at first, so she stood up, then sat down again with the same offended look. Then it hit me, that the food bowl was for food, not water, so it was promptly filled with what I believe was Beefy Doggy Delight if memory serves.

After that, if meals were late, Ivy would ostentatiously sit for a few seconds with a smile on her face, but would soon give me that same weird blank look that women often have when men lift their butts off the couch and fart. People who saw her do that would give sage advice like "don't give into that bratty behavior" or "you need to show her who's the boss" but such remarks were politely acknowledged and ignored.

After all, I can't criticize Ivy for not obeying commands if I didn't feel like following advice from nosey dog experts who can't mind their own business. The struggle over control of feeding times were a matter between Ivy and me, and not with those who think a dog is supposed to act like an 18th Century wife.

I figured that giving her a few bucks and sending her to a fast food joint wasn't an option, so if Ivy wanted to identify as a cat, then so be it. When she gave me the sit command, I'd fix dinner.

I just wished that she'd have been a little more polite about it...

...Topanga Reprise, and music...

I entered the homeless world as a musician, but that identity faded as being a writer was more relevant, and safer. Street musicians had to worry about their instruments being stolen even when playing in the open.

Still, there was music. The one survivor of what was once a fine instrument collection was a vintage charango, which has a story that'll be related in the September blog, that made it out with me to the Midwest. I began work on a charango piece, called "A Noble One She Was" back in April 2016, and it's still in progress. The initial demo was recorded in the car, and the sound of freeway traffic can be heard on it.

There was also one electric number, "Topanga Reprise," that was in pre-demo form, literally a jam tape, that was in the works to become a Handa-McGraw International single when my life situation changed. The normal procedure was to edit the jam tape into a rough demo and then if approved, that would be become the rehearsal version.

I eventually completed the editing for a preliminary demo in various coffee houses in December 2016, and after it was approved, posted it on our YouTube site, The Electric Fog Factory.

The cover illustration combines two pictures. One is of a dirt road used by a local utility company that runs about two miles along farm fields and migrant worker housing, and a picture of Ivy on a railroad track (that was later used as a promo pic).

What prompted me to finish the demo was that McGraw's guitar was reminiscent of 60s era electric Neil Young music, and it had an evocative mood that resonated with my situation at the time. It's a case of where the reprise ended up being done before the actual main song.

The Topanga name comes from the area in Los Angeles where a lot of musicians lived and hung out, but I also gave the levee road that name in my book, because over time, that dirt trail and the people who lived around it became part of the heart of the story.

Title: Topanga Reprise (demo version)

https://youtu.be/HUENrBO0nfY

- Al Handa

djboogieunderground@gmail.com