Showing posts with label journey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label journey. Show all posts

Friday, March 15, 2019

On The Road With Al & Ivy: A Literary Homeless Chronicle - Jan 8th

 

"Like all men in this land, he had been a wanderer, an exile on the immortal earth. Like all of us, he had no home. Wherever great wheels carried him was home."

- Thomas Wolfe (Of Time And The River)

...the new kid in town...

...a new face, possibly Middle Eastern, which is rare around here...I recognized myself in him him because he was acting like I did a few months ago, he had found a spot, a haven, possibly after some aimless wandering about to avoid being seen by those he knew.

The first stage of homelessness is the worst...everything looks big, every problem crushing you and what was your life is now gone...it's a rebirth but it doesn't feel that way because it feels more like death.

In the tarot, the death card is actually a symbol of rebirth...which I knew due to being a tarot card reader on the early internet when it called the usenet and mainly consisted of discussion groups and ftp sites.

I went by the name of Magus Fool, and buying a reading from me included a package of the reading and a free subscription to my tarot newsletter...early tarot web sites later carried it in their search for content. I did pretty well, it supplemented the lower  midwestern pay in my two years in Elkhart, Indiana, as I did my early CAD drafting work drawing up structural plans for RVs and shuttle buses during the day, with night work doing ink drawings of furniture for a small company for it's product catalogue.

It was a busy time. There was also my blues newsletter that had transitioned into an ezine but neglected...because being a small time publisher was a labor of love...being a mystic paid better.

My clients were mainly women, and they all wanted to know the same thing...did their man love them?

I eventually had to quit, because the tarot cards can't divine such a thing...it can only help the person externalize what they already know, and as the clients generally knew the answer already, who wants to be the messenger in such a situation?

It was a fun time though...I met all sorts of metaphysical types, from astrologers to the various types of psychics, one of which correctly predicted that there would be a time when women would be my best allies, which turned out to be true. Any man who raises daughters will be at least a little bit of a feminist...Mario Puzo, author of classic The Godfather, once said that God was wise to entrust our children to women, men would have screwed it up a long time ago...the reason women are better is because men think action and brains is the key; women add heart, and that creates real strength.

The most misunderstood card is the Death card, which was really about rebirth or the end of an old life; though in tarot, the cards can end up meaning anything the reader thinks it means...the best readers are extremely intuitive, the worst are egomaniacs that think that whatever thought comes up is inspired.

The whole idea that tarot cards can predict a future is arguable but not likely...true divination, or oracles, are very rare...rare enough that the true seers are all famous...most divination is really the subject's inner thoughts pulled out into the open and thus a course or future is clear...which is, of course, a talent that's alarmingly close to a con artist's ability to tap into a sucker's greed or vulnerability.

So a newbie homeless is someone who's drawn the Tower card, which is catastrophe or upheaval, and against all normal logic, needs the Death card to comprehend the situation and find a new self...that's one way to look at it anyway.

The main thing lost was a home, which is both a physical and metaphysical concept...the thing that began stabilizing my situation was to quit moving blindly about and find a spot, a haven that may not have been a new home but where the visual confusion of a constant stream of new scenarios could stop and the mind could begin to work.

In other words, get to a place where you can stop reacting and think.

I found my island at a rest stop up north near San Mateo...the nature and isolation of the place meant that the other homeless lived in cars and were similar to me...and I went through the same stage the Middle Eastern new comer was going through.

He's an older guy, a bit older than me, which means a radical change in life is occurring without a younger person's sense that there's plenty of time left to start a new life, though a younger person may need to be told that by an elder. Life is a circle...

He parked in the same parking area for a couple of weeks...same as I did, and gradually expanded that to a couple of other spots. It took him about a week to begin walking away from his car for reasons other than to go to the bathroom, etc., and about two weeks to stop driving off to another spot if someone parked next to him. Which I didn't do, since at the rest stop there was only a couple of areas a newbie could go, there were cliques in the other places that marked off turf and could get hostile if you invaded their space.

I would just try to become more invisible...

The car feels like a protective shell, like a womb where the new self begins to form...that new self can simply to be the old self that realizes that after all the chaos of becoming homeless, you're really the same person after all but simply without a roof over your head, but now with a chance to actually be that same person but without the baggage...that might sound like a circular argument and maybe it is, I don't think I've found out who my original self is yet...

This week the newbie has reached the point where he's coming in at different times and parking pretty much anywhere...he watches the others more, and has begun to look at the outside world again. I don't know what his next step is, but hopefully he knows the difference between a safe haven and a home...it's too soon to decide that he's found a new home.

...singing in the rain...

People like to wax romantically about the rain, but then, most people can walk away from it and go indoors...I can, sort of, but see it pitter pattering away all day on the car windows...you see diverse behaviors out here; people trying not to get wet, getting irritated, tunnel vision aimed at the nearest door, and the occasional Gene Kelly type dancing in the downpour (but definitely because of drugs).

Even the most downtrodden homeless person pushing a cart makes sure they have a raincoat...a cynic might remark that it's a rare chance to wash, but that's not how rain works...unless the person wants to strip naked for an extended period of time and enjoy their new status on a sex offender list.

In this world, rain has a silver lining...as nature sheds it's tears on a thirsty world, the temperature goes up 5-10 degrees and cold cars become stuffy and comfortable even on a windy night.

Seeing all that water come down pounds home the point that I could be out there miserable and cold with a dog that looks like a chihuahua when her fur is soaked. It's a pitiful picture that inspires gratitude and relief.

There is a discipline involved...the real world has places where one can shed the wet clothes and shoes and not track it into the house...in a car, you want to keep as much of the water out as possible...damp air makes feel colder inside, damages devices, and in a rain that lasts days, could invite mildew...also I move away from trees, otherwise the raindrops that collide in the branches come down in bigger drops and can sound like a steady stream of rocks pinging the roof.

I'm lucky my little buddy Ivy hates rain...when she hears it coming down, it brings out a rare patience about going outside to pee, and we both wait for lulls in the downpour to go outside.

Since some coming and going is unavoidable, my wardrobe changes...I prefer trunks, T-shirts and sandals unless it's too cold, as wet clothes don't dry fast in a car...bare feet and skin can be dried off with a towel faster than wet denim and leather. I'll wear a vest or jacket mainly to not attract attention to this kook who's walking around like it's summer, and an umbrella is essential.

It's a car routine for rainy days...if Ivy and I were on foot and had to seek shelter under an overpass, the procedure would be different.

I keep most of my food in the trunk, but if rain is coming then there's a second smaller pantry on the passenger side floor...the trunk has become a drawer, so opening it in the rain means bedding and clothes get wet, and can still be damp and wet in the evening when it's time to sleep. Ivy and I can eat for days from that smaller pantry.

Garbage is dumped daily, and I make it a point to keep it up front...there's a lot of trash in parking lots these days, and homeless are often blamed for it...if an officer looks into my car, I want it obvious that my trash isn't part of the squalor outside. 

I use wipes to clean up every day, and in rainy weather switch to ones that have alcohol, which dries faster and keeps the windows from steaming up. Not that the extra privacy from the steamed windows isn't undesirable, but steamy windows attract extra attention from passing police and security thinking that some sort of fornication is going on...that it could happen in a homeless car is a pretty funny idea when you think about it...not even homeless women will pick a homeless guy in a car as a first choice for a partner, at least one that isn't a druggie...if you see fogged up windows in a homeless car, it's more likely to be pot smoke or wet clothes warmed by body heat.

Rain is often looked at in absolutes like something to get out of, needed but best enjoyed in someone else's neighborhood, or to be endured...but it's like any weather, nature always makes sure there's a silver lining in any of it's offerings.

...it's all about power...

One of the cool scenes in the Apollo 13 movie was where all the people are arguing about this or that in trying to save the astronauts, and the young guy shuts everybody up and says that all that other stuff didn't matter, it was all about power, how much electricity was left in the batteries...without it, the spacecraft wouldn't be able to land.

The scene was about what a key issue is, the essential truth, and it applies to life and homelessness...in a car, it's all about keeping it running...once the car stops running, the whole life can collapse, and end most thoughts about the future, and drop you down to the next rung.

Tow truck drivers will tell you, the start of the rainy season is one of the busiest times...mainly electrical systems that fail in the damp and wet weather.

I pay attention to the electrical system and ignition when it's raining. Casual things like running everything at once in a older car is like a drunk sailor with a months pay in a foreign port, it can lead to a dead battery, and immobility at the wrong time.

That means avoiding such things as the temptation to constantly run the car to warm it up...it has to be done once in a while of course, but my rule is use only one thing if possible at a time; if the lights and heater are on, I don't charge devices, and I try to get one of those other two things off as soon as possible.

It's not a solution per se, but a discipline...keeping stress off the battery and alternator keeps power at a good level in case the inevitable goof up occurs like leaving a dome light on...a little care can mean forgiveness later for violating Murphy's Law.

- Al Handa 1/8/17

The Al & Ivy Homeless Literary Journal Archive:





THE IVY CORNER: Ivy seen here in her first professional photo session for the ad layouts for Eric Wilder's book, Big Easy. I'll be starting a new project Media-Entertainment project in February, more on that later!

Yes I did say that video was coming but I haven't worked out all of the bugs yet :-)

 

Many thanks to these contributors to this blog!

 

In a sales slump? Need your books to stand out from the crowd? Up Your Marketing Game with Book Banners Etc.



Voodo chile Ivy finds it easy to love Eric Wilder's Big Easy!

 

BEST NON-FICTION 2016 AWARD
a memoir about transition, transformation & living our truth
#RayRomano

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

On The Road With Al & Ivy: A Literary Homeless Chronicle - 2/20/2018



Johnson at last, of his own accord, allowed very great merit to the inventory of articles found in the pocket of the Man Mountain, particularly the description of his watch, which it was conjectured was his God; as he consulted it upon all occasions.

- James Boswell (Boswell's Life Of Johnson)

One of my favorite movies is "Jeramiah Johnson," a film that starred Robert Redford, about a civil war vet who became a famous mountain man.

The film has many of the elements that Americans love; the wily old sage and a varied cast of oddball characters whose paths cross throughout the film. Those meetings at various times in Jeremiah's new life become a barometer of his progress as a mountain man.

It also illustrates a concept that many Americans love, particularly in the Internet age; the notion that one can become a master with a few choice secrets from an expert that opens the door to mastery.

Americans love "experts," who are as exalted as priests were in the medieval age, able to dispense certainty and illumination with a few heavy duty words. Perfect in the timed segment environment of cable TV and click traps.

The concept of endless and boring toil to attain mastery is really more of an Eastern thing. Westerners like to have it all appear like magic after a little practice, or even better, as a result of a monetary purchase.

For example, Jeremiah is taught how to use the smoldering coals of a fire as a heating pad to sleep in the snow. Sure, he screws it up the first time, but sleeps like a baby the next night.

Some people will miss the fact that living out there was also an exercise in sheer endurance (and boredom), which is passed over and covered up by movie transition fade ins and outs of the seasons, which to the mountain men showed the passage of time.

In the era of instant gratification, people might not like to see that sort of aimless poking around because it involves time spent devoid of joys and grandeur, that dreaded dead time which so many expend a great deal of energy and resources to keep at arms length.

People will switch to a diversion to keep the mind occupied to avoid a nonproductive state of do nothingness due to ingrained go get 'em Puritanical attitudes. Even those who realize the benefits of down time often feel the need to dress it up as meditation or even better, something that involves spending money (which absolves all such indolent sin).

A salient sensation experienced out there in the homeless world is feeling like the world is spinning along without you. All those people going about their lives while I just stood there and watched. It wasn't quite like being off the merry go round of life, but that the normal measure of time, hours and minutes had become irrelevant.

...hitting the undo button...

One valuable lesson that Jeremiah learned was that it was more about unlearnng things more than picking up new tricks.

When looking at the homeless, there's a tendency to see it as a single image, or emotion. It's the media driven thing, that there's a single defining picture or truth to any issue which can be defined at soundbyte length. That's an efficient way to generate clicks or sell ads, but it's just another form of profiling that can unfairly type a person or group.

A man eating out of a garbage can is one such image and there's a variety of reactions one can feel to such a sight ranging from disgust to pity, but rarely an attempt to see the "story."

There's always a story.

In one instance the guy was in fact being fed by the other homeless around him. He wouldn't accept a direct handout, so they left food in the can. Once I realized that, I began to leave food in the can too.

You'd be surprised how often food, water, or even small amounts of cash was shared out there. Most importantly, help was always given without a lecture or comment.

An outsider could see that as enabling or even silly, but in that world, it's a form of tolerance and acceptance...respectable society will punish, pity, judge, or treat it as a matter as an illness requiring treatment (if they bother to) and those judgments are all valid on some level or another...but at that moment, there, the only help coming is from others like him, and given with an acceptance that can only be understood in that world. A parochial one for sure, but a real world for sure.

...recycling...

I cover the subject of scavengers in the book, which is a wider subculture than a single shock image of a starving man fishing for food. Scrounging out there was a complex subject and was as involved as nature's system of scavengers.

Dumpster diving, for example, was truly a desperate act in earlier eras when people didn't waste things, and garbage was really garbage. The modern era is different. Throwing out trash is very much about discarding anything that doesn't please in the moment or draw admiration. 

Clothes out of style? Donate or dump the stuff.

Feeling full? Throw the rest of the fries into the garbage can.

Part broken on a device? Cheaper to replace.

Our garbage piles have created a subculture as active as ant colonies. One of my earliest lessons out there was stay away from the dumpsters. Most were secured by locks, but regularly broken into, so that hanging around in those areas could get me in trouble with either the various urban recyclers (who could get territorial) or businesses calling the police to keep the areas clear.

Some dumpster areas were as busy as Walmarts on Black Friday.

I won't detail all the various scrounging subcultures here, that's all going to be in the book, but suffice to say that I found that more than a few of the various low rent recycling strategies were worth observing and tucking away in the brain for later use in case life went further south. It was an unlikely validation of the basic survival instinct, and how "life finds a way."

Jeremiah found that survival was all about learning as you go, and if you learn faster than nature punishes stupidity, then you might just get by.

“See, Winter comes, to rule the varied years, Sullen and sad, with all his rising train; Vapors, and clouds, and storms.”

—Thomson. From The Pioneers by James Fenimore Cooper

One of the first things that crossed my mind when seeing snow for the first time in twenty years was that homeless life would have been very different here in the Midwest. There's no way I could have lived in a car in below zero weather.

That doesn't mean it wasn't cold in California.

Midwesterners like to joke about the wimpy winters out west, but in a couple of areas that I slept in, the temp dropped into the high 20s. That's not a big deal if there's a warm home waiting for you at the end of the work day.

It is if a car is your bedroom.

Most people think of their cars as a temperature controlled environment that the heater makes nice and toasty, and that's how the early evening can feel. If the car's been running, the engine block will be hot and that keeps the temperature inside from dropping too quickly. Then the car cools down, and that mass of steel and plastic becomes as cold as the outside air. 

You'll notice it trying to sleep for the first time in a car, and waking up in the middle of the night as chilled as an ice cube. It's not easy making adjustments to get warm in darkness, even with a flashlight. A smart person will realize that it's best to treat it like camping, with everything needed at hand, and not like being in a bedroom with stuff scattered all about.

It was like camping, but only sort of...I had to balance safety with comfort.

The best way to stay warm is to use a sleeping bag and have bottom insulation like a yoga mat, but that's not a good idea in a high crime area. If you get car jacked, and I was in some areas where it was common, you won't be given a chance to get dressed, or much time to collect yourself if your car gets picked for redistribution.

You also want to be able to move on ASAP before the police arrive if some trouble erupts during the night. My SOP was to head off to another city if there was a ruckus. That might seem extreme, but if the police, who normally don't bother homeless go active, then it's best not to be around if what's going on is really part of a sweep or crackdown that started earlier in the week.

I always slept fully clothed. I preferred sandals, so that made things easier, at least in the summer. If it was a quiet area, I'd use a sleeping bag, but used it more like a throw or cover. Most nights it'd just be my trusty old down jacket and a travel pillow. Dressing in warm street clothes to sleep also made it more comfortable in the morning, when it was generally the coldest.

Some car homeless would try stuff like running the car as much as possible to keep the heater going, or drinking a lot of booze or coffee. One guy fell asleep while running the engine and almost burned the car up after idling for four hours. Also, it's no fun trying to walk to a bathroom at 2AM when it's a toasty (by midwestern standards) 40 degrees outside. Never mind if it's raining too.

In my book, I talk about the "cold," but not in terms of the temperature. It didn't matter if it was 30 or 40 degrees, it was more about how long the chill lasted.

I didn't think much in terms of night and day, but warm and cold.

The cold period started around ten at night, and it was going to be coldest around the time I had to be up, which was around seven in the morning. That was the latest I dared to sleep; any later and you could get caught in a sweep by police or store management (if in a parking lot). Most mornings I was well on my way by six.

People joke about how tough having to get up in the morning is, but not me. I looked forward to it. I could drive the car to an area where the sun was shining which continued the process of warming the car up that the heater started. If I could afford a cup of coffee, then it was a relatively pleasant hour or so wait for the sun to reach a good height. If not, I just bundled up a bit longer.

Cold that you can't get away from feels colder, but there was a bright side; in some of the areas I had to sleep, it was a good feeling waking up because it meant that you were still alive and hadn't been robbed or jacked.

Ivy rarely saw any of this morning routine, as she was a late riser and rarely up before nine. Which meant that I didn't have to take her outside till the sun had warmed the place up a bit...small mercies loom large when you can see your breath in a cloud in front of the steering wheel.

Ill on a journey 
All about the dreary fields 
Fly my broken dreams

- Haiku by Matsuo Bashō (1644–1694)

...it doesn't cost a dime to dream...part one of a series of ruminations about dreams...

One of the elements dealt with in detail in my book are dreams.

My concept of dreams evolved out there, and moved away from the usual image of a destination or attainment in the future to a more nuanced realization that one can accidentally confuse hopes, which are aspirations, with wishes, which can become a passive state of waiting for better luck or a rescue.

First off, living in a car means that the supreme hope, the American Dream, isn't happening and it's time to move on to the various lower level consolations reserved for losers in the Capitalist game.

In other words, the "better luck next time," "you can still do it," "nice try guy," and other opium of the masses stuff the 1% hope will keep the masses from turning their guns into tools for social equality, come to view soon after you begin waking up to a steering wheel in your face.

Dreaming about bigger things like stardom or riches are just parlor games for those who can afford one or a million big screen TVs...for me, it was about survival...maybe till opportunity knocked again, but certainly survival.

Yet at some point, in my case, after a few months out there, dreams did become part of the picture. It's important to have an image involving betterment there in place, and it isn't a trivial thing.

Without a dream, I could have been like some out there who thought that the predators were the only ones thriving out there, and joined them, or entered the comforting numbness of drugs. Both often looked like winners in that stark world.

One problem with the American dream is that it's becoming more about winning the lottery of life and becoming an alpha, above the concerns of the ordinary. You haven't become better, you've become better than others. Even worse is when it's tied in with the rescue fantasy, where a prince or some powerful person or organization delivers a wonderful (and wealthy) new life .

That's all OK of course. It's not illegal to aspire to become a jerk who thinks the people (or more specifically, customers) who made them a star are vermin to keep at arms length. In fact, it's not even unlawful to want to be a God with people laying at your feet giving you money and sex (many artists are guilty of this I imagine).

The problem is that such dreams aren't much help out there.

There's a saying I once heard, can't recall the source, that disillusionment precedes enlightenment, and it's very true. One of the main emotions one will feel out there is dispair, and it doesn't feel good.

I had to learn out there was that everything happening out there wasn't the same thing as failure, and everything didn't end just because my home was a car. Failure can feel like an emotion, but it's not.

What some consider a dream can really be a goal, or a wish. It can be about what a person thinks about their life, and reflect some unhappiness about it, or only be as realistic as a fairy tale.

A person who dreams of becoming a star can also be someone who not only hates being ordinary, but wants to be superior to others. That explains why some celebrities remain perfectly fine people, and others become overbearing swine. Success doesn't change people, it just makes some types of dreams possible, and that might include becoming a petty lord or duchess.

There'll be several smaller story lines in the book, threads tracing various dreams. Whether it was the drug dealer who thought he was just living a lowbrow version of the American Capitalist dream, or the young woman who didn't realize that she was desperately hoping for the Prince that her mom told her would come to rescue her, the subject of dreams was very much alive out there.

Alive, and helpful, and it could also brutally full of crap. If you could navigate through all the various dreams that we're taught growing up, and put it in true perspective, the way out of homelessness was there, clear as day.

My dream eventually became this picture I kept out there of myself that said none of what was going on around out there was me. I hadn't become a dealer, user, pimp, prostitute, useless this or that, gypsy, or whatever society said I was just because of membership in the homeless club.

One of my central dreams in the book is this image of me in the dark, under a light, and it shows me playing an instrument. Sometimes with a crowd, or a person, sometimes not. The music played varied in style, and rarely reflected my mood at the time. It was a mystery for quite a while.

I wrote a key passage in the "Autumn" chapter that describes that dream image and it was a picture that stayed more or less the same, but that my understanding of what it meant grew. At first it seemed like a vision of what the road out of homelessness was going to be.

As time passed, it really became a sort of mantra, a image of the self I protected, went back to when things seemed very dark and about how I thought I looked to others who were in the audience.

Some dreams are about becoming or getting something. Mine was about what I was, and that was worth a million dollars to me out there during a time when a fifty cent can of beans seemed like a feast. That simple meal didn't say anything more about me than a lobster tail dinner would have.

I knew that if I believed that, then time, my love or hate friend, was on my side.

- Al Handa
   Feb. 20, 2018

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


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

-Al Handa
The Al & Ivy Homeless Literary Journal Archive:
The earliest entries were on the Delta Snake Review section of this blog site.
http://deltasnake.blogspot.com