On The Road With Al And Ivy: A Literary Homeless Chronicle - August 2022

I know there are readers in the world, as well as many other good people in it, who are no readers at all,—who find themselves ill at ease, unless they are let into the whole secret from first to last, of every thing which concerns you.

- Laurence Sterne (The Life And Opinions Of Tristram Shandy 1759)

PART 2: The Mystical Bond Between Women And Cats

The mystical bond between women and the feline race was shrouded in mystery until 10432 B.C. when universal literacy via comic books and graphic porn novels made it possible for menkind to collectively ascertain why women were suddenly less willing to worship males as Gods.

A few far-sighted males postulated it was because they cheated, used the same socks all week, ate smoked sardines without brushing afterward, fell asleep immediately after sexual congress, engaged in farting contests, picked their toes, gambled family funds, killed each other for sundry reasons, and only hugged each other, but those heretics were quickly relegated to slave duty on galleys for trying to make it seem like it was a guy's fault.

The late Professor Ivy of Shitzu U made the first important discovery of this mystery of mysteries in 1897 A.D. while sniffing an ancient tree reputed to have sprouted from an acorn in the Celtic Age of White Witches and where successive generations of canine scholars had left more pieces of the puzzle in the hopes that those of a more enlightened age would aggregate the data and understand both the spiritual bond and what stuck up jerks cats are.

This set Ivy on a journey that spanned several continents (in doggie parlance, that meant several different trees and fire hydrants) and an astonishing pattern began to emerge. It became evident that women delineated this meowing relationship in veiled terms, similar to how men explain what they were doing that evening to their wives after coming home at four in the morning.

The breakthrough came in 2,567,90 A.D. when the Internet made it possible to access every book written by women published by male editors and publishers, which conveniently fit into a searchable two-volume set.

Professor Ivy made the stunning discovery that in 123,456,678 A.D., a poet named Jezebel McManus (immortalized in her autobiography "I, Ivy" due out in Sept. 2022) published a poem called "Men Are Horn-dogs," which was an intricate key that unlocked hidden messages in women's literature throughout the ages.

The furry scholar found that the line "Is aoir a tha so agus r'a leughadh a mhàin air son dibhearsain" is a cipher key that if applied to Emily Brontes' Little Women, the actual title is "Little Kitties." [Citation needed, when it was noted by theological scholar Hiram Glyphic, aka "Jesus Guy," that the actual author was Louisa May Alcott, said blog writer referred all questions to the A.I. blog generating bot who calls herself Mimee and was, he claims, the actual author of the particular passage]

Indeedy indeed, after this breakthrough, there poured forth a flood of revision and literary phraseology more awkward than found in this blog; such as the story of the Viking Goddess Freya, who was said to have driven a chariot pulled by fearsome lions but in reality, never let her precious kitties do such backbreaking labor and used studly males to pull her negative carbon-emitting vehicle. [Citation needed, actual carbon figures omit the methane from the farting contests that the male servants would engage in]

The symbology key hidden within Jezebel's work shows that the ancient stereotype of a housewife hitting her husband in the head with a frying pan is actually a bowdlerization of the suppressed epic stories of statuesque Amazons who carved up the ranks of woosy Greek Hoplites like a Ginsu knife through tofu, and Princess Paris (described by Greek social media star Homer as a prince) did, in fact, choose a super cute Siamese furbaby over the Gods Mars and Apollo in the famed beauty contest which resulted in the Trojan War. [Citation needed, Blogger admits that Mimee has oversimplified the revised myths into a convoluted run-on sentence but admits entering "must be tweet or Tik Tok length" as a programming variable for all return value output. He hopes the explanation will bring clarity to the readers of this blog]

I'll take a moment here to note that these accounts may seem to be slanted towards a sacred feminine view but think of it as a valuable exercise in what history might look like if women wrote it instead of men. 

Luckily, thanks to the democratization of historical scholarship on the Internet, all are invited to add their two cents to the imposing mass of data that'll confuse and dismay historians centuries from now.

Now, we continue with regular programming...

Professor Ivy found that in Jezebel's cipher key, every third letter in the second paragraph of her poem created words that appeared to be gibberish, but by taking the second letter in each subsequent paragraph and repeating the process a million times as specified by the Infinite Monkey Theorem (first alluded to by Aristotle) a cogent sentence emerges, which translated to English, reads "Women and kitties smell better than men."

Although menkind could understand straightforward concepts like going to war for oil and betting on professional sports, the sublime aesthetics of a woman's love for tabbies defied comprehension by pragmatic warriors used to a more butch approach to relationships, who then decided such perversions must be unnatural and evil.

This led to the creation of vituperous mythologies such as the alleged partnership of witches and black cats, felines being even fussier than men about prepared food, and the defamatory assertion that the pointy-eared tribe are a bunch of snobs.

These sexist misconceptions will be shattered in part 3 of the series of "Women and Cats" in the September blog entry.

A few weeks ago, I made an exception to my usual practice of avoiding the purchase of new titles in a used book store. 

The book is one of the four volumes of Orwell's essays and letters edited by Sonia Orwell and Ian Angus, which originally came out in the 70s. [Citation needed, Blogger has stated a publication date without bothering to check first, but when confronted with that fact, he replied that for Boomers like him, senility is the new 60, and dates are whatever, man…]

I bought the four-volume set back then, as it was the only way to get a comprehensive collection of his nonfiction writing at the time. That may be hard to believe now, as there are a lot of compilations available these days, but this set was a revelation to many who only knew him as the author of Animal Farm and 1984.

This paperback costs more than the original set, and as a rule, I wait until a used copy comes along. However, the chance of any of the four volumes becoming available as used copies is probably nil. There are plenty of inexpensive compilations that collect most of his important essays and book reviews (all of which I've purchased of course), and even though letters and previously unpublished works comprise much of the new material, most people probably don't see much point in reading that kind of stuff.

That's true for me, too, to be honest, but I did remember reading all four volumes several times and figured that the three used books I was interested in weren't as good a purchase as this.

Orwell's letters were written during an era when good correspondence and conversation were esteemed (going back to ancient times). In fact, with one prominent literary figure, Samuel Johnson, a great deal of his fame rests with a biography written by James Boswell, who recorded many of the remarkable conversations by this much sought after dinner guest, and attained literary fame for doing so.

There was a time when being able to say that one was engaged in an exchange of letters with a figure like Voltaire was a must in educated (or richer) circles, and even in modern times, people like Orwell put a great deal of thought and time into it. You can see in this book that he wasn't just a "Socialist writer" and that his literary sensibilities encompassed a wide range of genres from trash, poetry, and highbrow.

Many might be surprised to know that he was passionate about poetry and a scholar and expert on the subject.

Orwell derived a good part of his living from writing reviews, and even if the book appeared to be on a fast track to a bargain bin, he was professional enough to realize that the reader wants to know that the reviewer actually read the book, and has real thoughts and insight on it. So in Orwell's best work, a reader could get a clear idea as to what the book was about, with context. His best reviews read like a great coffee house chat, if you know what I mean.

That's not an easy thing to teach or quantify, and it can require a writer to go out on a limb and risk being wrong. His reviews of Jack London's books (in later volumes of this set) nail the atavistic undercurrent, while others, like his essay on Dickens are more like exploration or a literary meditation that doesn't quite get there, but shows a desire to understand the appeal of that great author.

The current Orwell compilations are an excellent introduction and, for most readers, probably all they'll need. However, the focus on the more celebrated essays and reviews can create an impression that only his critique of major writers were important or of interest to the average reader. 

It's understandably easier to sell an Orwell essay collection if he's talking about Dickens or Tolstoy, than "Searchlight On Spain" by the Duchess Of Atholl. Still, he wasn't a hack and approached every review with sincerity even if the book wasn't ultimately interesting.

Orwell kept in touch with other writers and friends and often got into involved discussions about books and issues. In one letter to Brenda Salkeld he talks about James Joyce's "Ulysses" with a more casual and personal view than in his formal reviews. It's an interesting train of thought written during a time when the book was more current, and people were still making up their minds about it.

Another example is his 1935 review of Henry Miller's Tropic Of Cancer, which had been published the year before and wasn't easy to find. It was written before the controversies and banning, and to Orwell, it was a work by an up-and-coming author. 

He felt that the book was remarkable and that people should try to get a copy and read it, but his view of the characters was less adoring than more recent writings by others.

His description of Miller and his friends was "the out-at-elbow, good for nothing type," most of whom were freeloading regulars at the local brothel. Which, as he saw it, was the whole point, that it was about a seamier, more "common" view of life that didn't generally make it into novels (at the time).

The final words of the review are, "I do not imagine that in Tropic Of Cancer, I have discovered the great novel of the century, but I do think it is a remarkable book and I strongly advise anyone who can get hold of a copy to have a look at it."

In 2022, perhaps a good many admirers of the book would say that Orwell was wrong or didn't see the genius but frankly, his review caught the essence of the work better than many of the recent opinions I've read. 

The appraisal of a classic can accumulate a lot of mythology and consensus that can, on the one hand, give it new relevance but skew the perception of a book and even the message.

Which is all just good old fashioned fun in the art world, even if the revisionism is amplified by posers who want to give others the impression that they've actually read the book in question or impress a date (though sensible single women get wary if the man claims to read books).

For many readers, Volume 3 and 4 would be more enjoyable. Those show a writer at the peak of his powers and the letters exude the confidence of someone who's been published and widely read within his circle (though his success with fiction was mixed).

Calling this a book for aficionados might not be exactly the term I'm looking for, but if you've read his essays then this volume will be a revelation as it shows an intimate glimpse of the person who wrote what are now very influential books and essays.

I'll go ahead and reread this one. With a writer this good, there'll be something I missed the last time through.

The other day I came across an old Facebook post that was supposed to be a clever life hack that turned a bra into a "gas mask." 

One problem is, unless the woman carries the bra in her purse (which would make it almost impossible to find), it would have to removed on the spot, which isn't practical to do in public for reasons that don't need to be explained.

However, as a public service to those who don't get enough lecturing and know-it-all blurbs on social media and cable news, and desire an explanation, here are insights reprinted from the unpublished book by the late Professor Ivy Of Shitzu U, "How To Prepare For The End Of Civilization."

As far as homemade gas masks, the good Professor states:

"For protection against modern gas or biological weapons, any mask without eye protection is useless. Chemical agents like nerve gas also attack through exposed skin, like when you take the bra off to make the mask. Plus, many men will die due to staring at a woman's exposed mammaries instead of taking emergency measures, and society will usually blame her.

If you really must try to survive a gas attack, then one stupid life hack is to put your head into a plastic bag (clear one if possible) like your parents told you not to do, and that'll give you about three minutes to exit the area before suffocating to death (subtract one minute if you haven't taken your anxiety meds)."

Professor Ivy adds, "If you haven't popped all the air pillow wrap from your Amazon packages, then your life can be extended by a few more seconds by cutting a hole in an intact pillow and sticking your nose in it. More than enough time to post your demise on Tik Tok and Twitter."

Stunning truths, to be sure!

The noted canine scholar also added some historical background to explain why people would even conceive of a gas mask made from a bra, excluding the possibility that the idea came from a male, who would, of course, never advise using a jock strap for the same purpose.

Ivy's book relates:

"The modern origins of covering nose and mouth with cloth stem from the first Battle Of Ypres in World War One. The Germans achieved complete surprise with the first use of chlorine gas which devastated the Allied front line trench.

Two groups of soldiers survived the attack; the ones who high-tailed their butts out of there and those who improvised gas masks by using a cloth soaked in wee wee."

Trench warfare was, in reality, a siege where both sides needed food and water brought up by support troops. Needless to say, both sides knew this and would regularly bombard all likely routes taken by logistical personnel trying to deliver supplies to the front.

The use of urine wasn't due to any known scientific principle at the time. It was common sense that a wet cloth does a better job of filtering, and urine might have been an improvisation by those who had empty canteens due to the prolonged preliminary shelling cutting off supply.

The learned Professor continues in chapter 3, "What was learned in this attack was, although a soldier's best chance of survival was to take off like a scared bunny, military necessity required any personnel below the rank of General to stay in the trenches to meet the attack that was sure to follow any deployment of gas."

The Shitzu Sage added, "Even leaders at the staff level realized that it would be impossible to get normal human beings to sit still in a gas attack without protection. Thus the constant development and improvement of gas masks continues to this day.

It would seem that the United States would have the technological muscle to make sure every citizen has a gas mask in every pot (chicken is too expensive now) or at least as many as subcontractors in China and India can manufacture in sweatshops to meet demand." 

The furry scholar's view may seem cynical, but Mimee, the new A.I. Blog Generator, adds an observation that emphasizes the positive,

"The Government will half-ass it until people start dying, but the sleeping giant will awaken and handle it as effectively as they would a pandemic or autocorrect software."

Reassuring words indeed!

However, a more jaundiced view was expressed by noted think-tank writer, Nymie "The Kitty" Katt, who noted in 2345,99,000 A.D. that "Most victims in, say, a V.X. Gas attack, would have one to ten minutes to live depending on the length of exposure and how much processed food was eaten."

The shaggy-eared Academic doesn't deny that penetrating observation but adds:

"Most V.X. Gas attacks would originate from a NATO country, most of whom wouldn't attack the U.S. Such an action would be unlikely as the standard response would be a nuclear attack, being force fed Kale chips, or cancellation on social networks.

The most likely scenario, terrorism by a rogue state or homegrown, would be devastating but localized, and it's believed that most Americans would prefer that terrorists target NYC, California, Texas, or Florida depending on their political affiliation."

Although this isn't helpful to those in an actual chemical attack, the Professor notes: "All wouldn't be lost. There's time to do maybe one or two items on your bucket list that only takes a minute while gasping for air."

This may seem like facile advice from an admittedly intelligent dog who thinks nothing of smelling butts and human feet, but the truth is a hard road that anyone earning less than $1,234,567,890 a year must follow.

The long-eared sage with the fluffy tail concludes in Chapter six of her book, "Hoc satirarum fragmentum non contemnitur."

Editor's Note: Those who are astounded by the pungent insights of Professor Ivy Of Shitzu U can delight in her upcoming autobiography, titled "I, Ivy" due out in September 2022.

- Al Handa

   August 2022

   ontheroadwithalandivy@yahoo.com

Those who’d like to read a preview of the book, “I,Ivy” can read the first three chapters on Kindle Vella until August 28. After that date, it will be taken down and combined with the unpublished chapters to create the ebook version in September.

The ebook “On The Road With Al & Ivy: The Anthology Volume 1 2016-2018 is now on Kindle Unlimited!

I’ll run free promotions later this month, but members can read it for free now.

Please check out and listen to my music on Spotify, YouTube, Apple Music and other music sites. Add any cuts you like to your playlists!

On The Road With Al and Ivy: A Homeless Literary Chronicle - Dec. 13th, 2018

"Homer died two hundred years ago, or more, and we still speak of him as though he were living...the others he wrote in his epic of the Trojan War. They are mere shadows, given substance by his songs; which alone retain the force of life; the power to soothe or stir or draw tears."

- Robert Graves (Homer's Daughter 1955)

I celebrated a half million views in the November blog entry, and this month should see another milestone; the completion of the final draft of the book.

It'll still need to be line edited (and possibly refined as a result) but I decided last month that it was time to finish. I remember good friend, author and editor, Melody Ramone, once telling me that there'd come a time when it felt "finished" and added half jokingly that I'd also might be sick to death of the manuscript.

That was certainly true, though being "sick of it" in my case is more a case of the musical equivalent, which is feeling that the work is as good as it's going to get and will risk becoming worse (or boring) if it keeps getting fussed over.

When McGraw and I worked on music for our Handa-McGraw International albums and YouTube channel (Electric Fog Factory), we differentiated between music for recording and live work.

We always stopped jamming and trying out new arrangements on a recorded piece when it felt right. After that, it was all about getting the right take, and technical perfection was always secondary to feel. For example, on the YouTube channel there are several numbers that were intended as demos, but never replaced. That's because a finished version hadn't been done that had the right feel.

My book is similar to an album, mainly because the artistic sensibility is musical. It had stopped being a chronological journal by the second draft and became a work driven by a musical sensibility.

...empathy, sympathy, and pity...

I also avoided passages, particularly about characters, that delineated some sort of main theme or "timeless" concept. There are several in the book whose lives are instead described dispassionately, or without judgement (as much as possible).

A neutral stance isn't always easy to achieve, because of the natural desire to steer the reader into feeling a particular emotion, particularly sympathy. There's temptation to slant or change the characterization to do that. Which isn't forbidden in a novel, of course, but not desirable in my case.

The neutral stance is the most empathetic. That can result in passages where the reader might ask, is Al condoning what the character is doing or lacking any pity for the person?

There are parts of the book, for example, where a person eating out of a garage can is described in detail. Not just the physical minutiae, but the mentality. It's a scene without declarations of shock or horror, and written from the point of view of an observer who was also hungry, felt hopeless, and could understand where the scavenger was coming from.

I found that the first drafts of the scenes (added in the fifth run through) were as good as those would ever be. Every attempt to revise it took it further away from the raw, effective description and "judgement" began to creep in.

It was transitioning away from a mentality that could only exist in that moment to a mannered one stemming from the detachment that comes later when being able to eat well. My view of those incidents also differed between the early incidents and those seen much later. 

In the earlier passage, I was seeing it for the first time, the second was after being among the homeless for several months and had a clear idea of who scavenged food and why. 

It is a stark, visceral act to scavenge food, especially in front of people. My own feeling is that it should never happen, that society must make sure that no one is ever forced to do such a thing. That's obvious to anyone with even a shred of humanity.

To write about it from my point of view would risk making it about me and my feelings. To describe it from their point of view, humanizes the image, and requires a dispassionate lens, but in the end tells their story in a way that has a chance to be revelatory. The pathos is greater if the character isn't turned into an archetype. 

When the later incident didn't shock me, it wasn't because I had "become hardened," or self involved. There was an understanding among many of the homeless that anyone that desperate should be helped. How some did so could strike you as weird, but motivated by a humanity shaped by the moment. There was one collective effort for a mentally ill scavenger, described in the book that at the time, struck me both as very eccentric but filled with human warmth.

Food and water was offered freely, particularly if the person was new, and being stingy was a rare act in the circles I traveled in. In the summer months, for example, friends would come by and make sure we had cold water to drink and enough to eat.

...acceptance...

The main thing people gave each other was acceptance. 

Most homeless are acutely aware that they're being judged, often harshly. If they saw a person going through a garbage can, they almost never interrupted the act. I go into more detail about why in the book, but there were good reasons for that. 

The best time to approach the person, as a fellow homeless, was later on when the person was done. For one thing, there were various reasons a person could be doing it. Some had nothing to do with hunger. 

One reason was that we lived among a great many who were mentally ill. Some were harmless, some weren't. Interrupting a mentally ill person at a dumpster could trigger a unpredictable reaction, particularly at night. 

We learned to observe first before acting.

Several of the people who became friends had observed me for a few days before approaching. Some weren't sure I was "all there" because of my severely bad haircut at the time, constantly talking to myself, and the odd habit (to them) of carrying Ivy instead of using a leash (not to mention constantly talking to her also). There were reasonable explanations for the above, of course, but they couldn't know that. 

Being constantly short of sleep and good meals, often in fear, sometimes angry, and being dirty created a feral mindset that showed in the early drafts. My prose at some points could have been alternately mistaken for a motorhead rap, a paranoid who saw danger at every turn, and most valuable to my book, a realization that, at least in the present, he was one of them, had to live with them, and that they were just people like him. It's a mood that was worth preserving.

...the Ivy chapter...

For example, I'm glad I wrote the chapter about Ivy's death in the early drafts. Writing about it now as it really happened then would be difficult. The existing chapter captures the physical impact of devastation that fades with time.

One key point that the original account captured was that after Ivy died, an important link to sanity was gone. Admitting that I "lost it" is easy, but keeping in the actual thoughts and behavior of that moment that cycled rapidly through anger, ingratitude, pain, and even blasphemy would be a tempting candidate for self editing. Also, for several hours, I lost all awareness of my surroundings, and disregarded every precaution normally taken in a homeless area at night. 

There was shock, then a raw paralyzing fright that set in once the adrenalin was gone. Even as she died, I could still at least hang on to the notion that superhuman effort or desperate prayer might work, because even long odds sustain hope.

There's an old term, "staring into the abyss," that captures it perfectly. The dreams of the previous four months died that day, yet on that terrible night after it all happened, what actually ran through my mind surprised me even then. It wasn't suicide, getting numb from drugs, striking out in anger, or any of that. I'd have welcomed apathy at that point.

I think that any of us who has such a moment, where a stark truth hits so hard that it renders everything meaningless, and I think it's different for everyone, has to reaffirm something at their core, whether it's faith or a choice, and move into and through that "void."

The term "reaffirm" is a big theme in the second half of the book. There was a decision made four months earlier that turned out to be relevant that sad night, and pulled me out and forward. Like a ship that had been in a terrible storm, found itself well off it's path, but knew it's course and continued the journey. Though it's not always obvious, there's a path that starts in the first chapter all the way to the last.

The first draft ended in February just after the one year anniversary of becoming homeless. In fact, the ending had already been written. I considered leaving it that way, but decided that Ivy was too important to the story and kept writing, something another writer would understand.

She projected so much personality and helped galvanize so much help. If my writing ability is up to the level of ambition in this book, then perhaps you'll be rooting for me to succeed for at least pity's sake, but will most certainly admire Ivy's great big spirit. She started off homeless as a pup, but only got more indomitable no matter what life offered. Make no mistake, she knew we were homeless.

In the larger sense, everything I want to say in the book is there, and it's time to finish it. If all goes well, I'll be able to tell everyone that the final draft is completed on December 31st.

"Nothing, including alcohol, ranked as high as coffee for the Civil War soldier. Men drank it before, during, after, and in lieu of meals. Many wrote of it in letters home, praising the soothing qualities of a pistol-hot cup of grind."

- Thomas R. Flagel (The History Buff's Guide To The Civil War)

Coffee is one of mankind's great loves. It's regarded both as a necessity and a luxury worth paying extra for drinks that have less coffee in it. Most of the world actually prefers tea but like soccer as opposed to NFL football, it'll never replace coffee in the Western Hemisphere.

It only took me a few weeks of living in a car to regard coffee as just an occasional indulgence.

One problem with coffee is that makes you go to the bathroom too much. Going to the bathroom out there was often a real hassle. The other problem is that it's pricey by the cup. Even at a place like MacDonald's where it costs a buck, that was a day's worth of decent meals for my dog.

I eventually started buying a six pack of eight ounce generic cola for a dollar fifty for any needed caffeine boost, and most mornings that did just fine. Part of the reason that worked was because I was primarily a tea drinker for most of my life, so while I liked coffee, it wasn't irreplaceable.

Also, caffeine wasn't a useful drug out there. It could be tense enough, particularly at night, and if I could relax enough to sleep for a few hours, then that was more important. If sleep didn't come that night, I needed to be able to nap during the day.

I missed a lot of things but coffee wasn't high on the list, and have to admit, that was a surprise.

"And honey is the holiest thing ever was, hive, comb and earwax, the food for glory..."

- James Joyce (Finnegan's Wake)

Now honey, that was a different thing altogether. I wasn't a big fan of the stuff in regular life, but out there it was invaluable.

Bread is a cornerstone in any cheap diet, and a good loaf in a variety of flavors can be had for a dollar. Honey is perfect because it's affordable, makes bread taste great, and can be kept in a car as it doesn't spoil.

Honey has a different aura than other cheap foods. For example, beans and bread are quite filling and nutritious, but let's face it, it's still beans and bread. Now, bread with honey on it, well, that's like a snack at home with all it's comforts.

A nice cheap sweet snack was no small thing. Other amazingly cheap goodies, like oatmeal cream sandwiches, could turn white sugar into a punishing experience. I finished a box by scraping out the filling and just eating the cookies, but the joy was less than transcendent.

I don't consume much honey now, but like my dearly departed Birkenstocks, it was a friend when I needed it.

"How fleeting are the wishes and efforts of man! How short his time! and consequently how poor will his products be."

- Charles Darwin (On The Origin Of Species)

Alpha types tend to interpret "survival of the fittest" as a validation of aggression or masculinity, which is really more Nitchzie (or Ayn Rand) superman stuff. It is a part of natural selection, but the concept is more nuanced.

Being the biggest baddest dude may help get the women interested, but that only meant that he could win a head butting contest with other males. Assuming they fight fair.

Mankind didn't survive because of physical prowess. If we had depended purely on alphas, we'd have been on the desert menu for saber tooth tigers after their main course of he-men. The list of animals that can kick a human butt in a fair fight is long and beyond the scope of this blog entry. Though making such a list might be fun...maybe in a future blog.

What enabled us to evolve into beings that can create thousand dollar hamburgers and shoes was the ability to form groups that could forget political differences long enough to use their intelligence to manufacture weapons and gang up on the savage beasts (most of whom are heading quickly towards extinction, particularly if their body parts are thought to increase male verility).

Looking at the world now, it's obvious that man's main enemy and competitor on the food chain is man. Darwin noted that the competition within a species is more intense.

An invasion by martians might give mankind a reason to unite, but with our superior intelligence and egos that verge on God complexes, any resistance would be crippled by large numbers of people who'd prefer to collaborate and profit by treachery.

Idealists who believe in our innate niceness might scoff at that, but given the large number of people who wish they could become vampires or believe E.T.s built the pyramids, it's clear that the seeds of treason will always be present.

Well, maybe that is Darwinism after all. Like I said, the subject is full of nuance.

Anyway...the reason I discuss capitalism so much is that it is, in the Western World, more than God, the true state religion. Out there in the streets, it was a word that had a lot of relevance.

Like any philosophy or doctrine, capitalism often becomes what people say it is. Much of my early anxiety and fear of the streets was due to Hollywood and literary depictions of it being a tough place ruled by apex predators. Which, as I've said in the past, was found to be only partly true.

Capitalism is really about money. Nothing else.

Sure, there's things like power and status but none of that happens without money. Where that money goes and who gets it is only part of the doctrine. The comparisons to Darwin and survival of the fittest just tends to be one of many platitudes to keep the other 99% quiet and respectful.

The various species on this planet actually survive because of a multitude of successful strategies, but the main one is intelligence. "Street smarts" isn't just about being amoral or a supreme BS'er to survive. Most of the survivor types in my book were smart enough not to play the usual games.

"But I could not do the work of writing a book, or even a long magazine article, if it were not also an aesthetic experience."

- George Orwell (Essay: Why I Write)

I generally write out of sequence, as for whatever reason, the parts and passages tend to spill out of the consciousness in seemingly random order. That might be due to playing music, which may seem linear but isn't always so in the composition stage.

I wrote out the first draft knowing that the book wasn't opening in a satisfactory way, but kept writing, figuring to address it on the next run through. It was on the fourth pass where the first chapter really came together.

The second draft mainly added all of my thoughts and opinions, which would have resulted in an annoyingly subjective stream of consciousness book...but it was important in that the passages did delineate what I wanted the book to "say" and by the fourth draft was taking those mini essays out and putting in actual story, dialogue, and character actions to not only show what formed those opinions, but doing it a way that lets the reader decide what it means.

There were incidents that turned out to be connected to other passages and it was surprising to realize that there were things going on that weren't comprehended at the time.

For example, I saw things at the county social assistance office that seemed like simple friendly interaction between the homeless and gangs and totally missed the well oiled operation where dealers not only obtained ebt cards for sale but literally harvested homeless druggies for their monthly checks like sheep for their wool.

Also, as I constructed the story of one young woman, the various passages when combined showed her being groomed to become a truck stop hooker and that she was in fact being guarded and not just partying with the same group of guys. The final night she was in the area ended up in a scene that took on a much darker aspect than planned.

Part of the process was becoming more aware of what really happened so as a result, the decision was made to leave in descriptions as seen then, but tied together with better hindsight, with no later judgements or attempts at pathos. The reader can make their own judgement and conclusions, and even better, get a glimpse into their own feelings and attitudes by their reaction to the stories.

I'm still working that part out, how to describe the story as I saw it, and not as I see it now.

"Civilization has increased man's producing power a hundred-fold, and through mismanagement the men of civilization live worse than the beasts." 

- Jack London (The People Of The Abyss)

George Orwell saw Jack London as a person who truly understood fascism because of his atavistic Darwinian sensibilities. He also understood London because like him, he was also an "unreliable" socialist who saw the real world as opposed to trying to fit it into a doctrinal lens.

Both actually went in and lived in poor slum areas, and at times were among the homeless (though both had a different experience with it) and wrote about it. Homeless literature, particularly the first hand experience type, isn't a new phenomenon.

London did it when he was a successful, well off writer, and took the precaution to create a safe house during the early homeless phase of the book writing. There were points where he used it rather than tough it out on the streets, though one couldn't fault that as the intent was to create a first hand account rather than a memoir.

He wanted to understand slum life in London, who was living it, and portray the actual people and what they were like. What he saw deeply affected him. This was clear later in the book, when his feelings about the economic system and attitudes that made such a poor class even possible in a rich society came out. 

The focus was on people and their stories for the most part, and the understanding that poverty created a lifestyle that literally trapped people in it. Even more importantly, he was perceptive enough to realize that the poor wasn't one big group but several subcultures.

Orwell, who was inspired by London, engaged in similar forays into poverty zones and developed a similar take. Like his predecessor, the descriptions were detailed and remarkably free of judgement or preaching and more powerful because of that.

Orwell wrote two books, "Down and Out In London and Paris," and "The Road To Wigan Pier," both still worthwhile reading. The first part of the Wigan Pier book, which describes his experiences working among the Welsh Coal miners is a masterful, a true classic.

The second half of the Wigan Pier book, is a bit off topic, but worth describing. It assumes a devil's advocate role and discusses the faults of English socialism, and succeeded so well that the publisher of the book, a Socialist, felt it necessary to add a disclaimer that Orwell's essay in the second half didn't reflect the mainstream socialist view.

One of the offending passages said that socialists were perceived as sandal wearing "bearded fruit juice drinkers trying to eek out a few more years" of life, which also shows that the health food craze isn't a new phenomena.

As I said earlier, both he and London were considered "unreliable" socialists.  

The thing that affected me the most wasn't their descriptions of privation. A typical lunch before homelessness was often just beans, or cheese and bread. I didn't necessarily see having to eat a can of pork and beans in a car as a hardship.

What hit me was how important the mental aspect was, and the crippling effect of hopelessness and apathy. My own scariest moment wasn't due to any of the crime that was around or any physical threat.

It was when it hit me that the situation could be my life and future. It stemmed from a single incident that, in a manner of speaking, triggered an avalanche. A loss that any normal person might shrug off but felt cataclysmic at the time. That didn't happen to London, who could leave anytime. However, he did see that hopelessness was crippling, and that it was accentuated by the lifestyle. 

...the night life...

In one instance, he tried to stay out that night and sleep, then try to find a job in the morning. Instead, he had to join the multitude who were constantly chased out of doorways and parks, and finding that the police finally let them sleep when the parks opened during the day. Exhausted, and hungry, and with rain coming, he gave up and went back to the safe house. 

Seeing the homeless asleep on park benches during the day in America is generally dismissed as booze or drug fueled stupors, and certainly, that can be the case. Just as often, though, it's because they had to stay moving during the night, but for different reasons than London described. 

I devote a couple of chapters to that. I've stressed the importance of having a car in past blogs, that keeping it in running condition was the priority. The reason was that without it, I could end up on foot, carrying as much of my belongings as possible along with Ivy and in constant danger of being mugged at night.

In those chapters I reconstructed the night routines of various people that I saw. I know about it because during that six week period when my car was dead in the water, I had to think about what would happen if it was towed. There was at least one store manager who was trying his best to get the police to do that even though it was parked out on the street.

So, I watched the night people, where they went, their routines, where the safe areas were, etc. I didn't really think that if it came to being a back packer that it would stay that way for long. There were a couple of RV and car homeless that would have taken me in if that happened.

The problem was, that was an option only if they were still around.

For example, a couple and a woman who was part of an enclave, would dog sit Ivy so I could try to get a job, but the couple was chased out of town by the sheriffs department, the other by some store management and police. 

So suddenly within a two day period, no dog sitters. That's how unpredictable life was out there. I had to assume that if the car went away, we could be on our own for some period of time, and that it was dangerous to simply wander about without any plan or knowledge of the night scene.

The basic rule of survival on foot at night was either have a safe place (not to sleep, that would be stupid to do out in the open), or keep moving (at least until the "safe time"). 

The transient sleeping in a park archetype was described in London's book, and is still seen today. His comment is still relevant. He asked those who might assume it was just a lazy or dissolute person to realize that it might actually be the exhausted sleep of someone who'd been harried and moved along all night by the police. Once he experienced the night they had, they became real people and faces.

I can add, you would sleep out in public because bedding down in a private place is potentially very dangerous. Sleeping in an isolated hiding place is the equivalent of walking through dark alleys at night.

What I want to do is present the reader with faces and lives. Instead of an image of an unfortunate herd suitable for framing in a 90 second news spot or web article that mainly quotes business and property owners, it'll have stories like that of a young homeless woman escaping abuse and probably headed for a life of prostitution, drugs, or criminality. Put there by people who aren't homeless, and as a prostitute, serving members of respectable society not interested in helping her. 

Her story and others like it should say all what needs to be said. I think good decent people, like the ones who helped me so much won't need to be told what they're seeing.

I hope the book does a good job of letting you all see what I saw.

- Al Handa

  Dec. 13, 2018

...cover reveal for Hide In Plain Sight...

This is the cover for the upcoming book, Hide In Plain Sight, hopefully out sometime in 2018.

-Al Handa

djboogieunderground@gmail.com

The Al & Ivy Homeless Literary Journal Archive:

There are earlier blog entries on the Delta Snake Review section of this site that aren't on the On The Road page:
http://deltasnake.blogspot.com