Thursday, June 6, 2019

On The Road With Al and Ivy: A Literary Homeless Chronicle - June 6, 2019



He traverses familiar, 
As one should come to town 
And tell you all your dreams were true; 
He lived where dreams were sown.

- Emily Dickinson 

"Do you suppose I give a damn about life now? Why, you bone-head, I haven't got a single damned lying hope or pipe dream left!"

"By God, there's no hope! I'll never be a success in the grandstand--or anywhere else! Life is too much for me! I'll be a weak fool looking with pity at the two sides of everything till the day I die!"

- Eugene O'Neill (The Iceman Cometh) 

I've first saw O'Neill's play, "The Iceman Cometh" in high school. My English & Literature class watched the movie version that starred Lee Marvin and Robert Ryan on PBS. I won't go into all of the deep meaning, as there's cliff notes and Google for that, but what seems relevant today was the importance of dreams, which are part of a reality, even if delusional.

The play's message was also anti-dream, a reaction to the Hollywood dreams-can-come-true-story, which envisioned success in terms of riches, or a rise in social status, which for most will never happen as the capitalist system is about winners and losers.

The aspirational image is a powerful concept. People who'd be unhappy working in a burger joint for minimum wage will willingly put out much more effort for less money in pursuit of a dream. Most writers and musicians know this is true.

Hollywood standardized the dream narrative but in real life, dreams can be quite idiosyncratic. However, one's stated dreams are not always revealing or illuminate a real desire. 

For example, a person dreams about becoming a star (or in America, rich and famous, as simple fame is often derided). When asked, the aspirant will talk about creating great art or helping others, but if they do succeed, can end up acting like tabloid celebrities and engage in behavior that would have shocked even the 17th century French nobility.

In that case, the dream wasn't about great art, but status. Once achieved, the real desire came out, empowered by money. People talk about the pressures of fame, or the corrupting nature of money, but that's not generally true. Most of the rich don't flaunt wealth, they know better, and even if snobby, generally keep to themselves (or let politicians do the dirty public work). Many try to do good works, and manage to hang on to the money (and not blow it on drugs or whatever).

A dream can be anything you want, but to me, one of O'Neill's messages was that to have a realistic dream, it's a good idea to know oneself. At the end, the Socialist drunkard has a realization that seemed like a final surrender to death. Perhaps on the surface, but realizing he was a weak fool for sitting aloof and pitying both sides was a deep piece of self knowledge. 

Another classic, "Magister Ludi," aka "The Glass Bead Game" by Hermann Hesse has a similar theme. An intellectual master of an extreme sport for the mind finally realizes that he can't stay aloof from life. It's a nuanced idea, but the Glass Bead Game became the Master's life and it failed him when a choice had to be made in real life.

The idea of intellectual pursuit or a dream isn't a universal truth. There's other views of reality. In an old Japanese film, the ending text said that the characters lived their dreams and after death, moved on to the real world, which implies that life here is an illusion.

Frankly, all of that stuff is true when it is, and not when it not. I once said in an earlier blog entry that a person could be Mickey Mouse as long as he didn't try to make others believe it, and even then, whether it's a wasted life is really only an issue for those who care about someone else's business.

Which, in terms of art, means that one can dream anything they want, and you're a writer (for example) if you call yourself one. If that dream requires money, an audience or applause, then you have to decide if it's worth doing what it takes to get that, things which will often have nothing to do with art.

"A word spoken with the whole being can give life. Activity in itself means nothing: it is often a sign of death."

- Henry Miller (Tropic Of Capricorn)

An awful lot of the "history" of literature is Western-centric. The start of so-called realism (in France) is said to have started with Balzac and Stendhal, whose work was a departure from the "romantic" era exemplified by writers such as Sir Walter Scott. Such a viewpoint might earn a passing grade in a literature class but anyone who's reasonably well read knows that the modern Western era wasn't the first time that adventurous, realistic, free form or dirty writing had been created.

Many of the ancient classics, like The Arabian Nights or Canterbury Tales were originally  rowdy works that were bowderdized into clean tales suitable for children. The history of Western literature is often more about the battle over censorship than any supposed progression of creativity, particularly as the printing press enabled more works to get past the old gate keepers that published books by hand.

One can get the impression from early school text books that literature evolved from folk tales into classic works full of truth and reality when it's really due to wider literacy and the evolution of technology that enabled the production of mass market books and movies. One could even argue that today's higher sex and obscenity content could be as much a matter of changing tastes (or the competition for public attention) than an increase in freedom.

...what genius...

Many of mankind's greatest works could be nitpicked into a failing grade by a person properly trained in English grammar, though there are genres, like technical manuals and textbooks, where proper structure can be critical.

All great geniuses are rule breakers, and tend to be treated as exceptions or outliers. It reminds me of a past musical discussion about jazz guitar on the Internet, and how one of the greatest guitarists, Wes Montgomery, played on extra thick strings with his thumb, which was considered unorthodox. The consensus among the "experts" of the discussion group was that Montgomery was a genius but not one that could be emulated by those wishing to "properly" learn jazz guitar.

The lesson society teaches is that individual style works if it works (makes money), and your safest bet is orthodoxy or pro level craft. That was a mantra of a past era, when a writer generally only had one or two chances to prove their talent (ability to sell). That's because book publishers were gatekeepers who successfully convinced the public that their product was of the finest quality and that self publishing was a "vanity" project that was the last resort of the mediocre.

The Internet era, for all it's faults, will be seen as a time when an individual writer had the great freedom, and more importantly, the ability to keep writing after an early failure. That means that a lot of excessive or undisciplined works will be created, but no one needs to write with the simple goal of making money (and all the compromises necessary) unless they want to.

Henry Miller once said, that one should write a book because it needs to be written. When it's finished, to not worry about getting it published but to begin writing the next one, and the next. He wrote that passage in Europe, where there were small presses that would support cutting edge work, not in the US where getting published was indeed critical to a writing career. 

I remember being told in High School journalism class that writing books was only something a journalist who had put in his time could aspire to, and wasn't something anybody could just start doing. Even columns, which were the first blogs, weren't given out to beginners.

What Miller was describing was a life that was all about writing, and he only succeeded after years of hardship, and support by patrons who provided encouragement and even meals. His words make sense in this net era. In truth, publishing an Ebook only costs as much as anyone cares to spend on support services like editing. A work can be published without any of that, and a writer can keep putting out books as each is completed. 

You may not sell many books, and a second job might be necessary to pay the bills, but a writer's life is possible if you want it.

On every side of us are men who hunt perpetually for their personal Northwest Passage, too often sacrificing health, strength and life itself to the search; and who shall say they are not happier in their vain but hopeful quest than wiser, duller folk who sit at home, venturing nothing..."

- Kenneth Roberts (Northwest Passage)

The quote was taken from Kenneth Roberts' "Northwest Passage," which was about Colonel Robert Rogers (whose rangers became the model for today's US Army Rangers) who made an ultimately futile quest to find the Northwest Passage. It was also about a man named Langdon Towne, whose goal was to become a painter, who later fell into the trap of trying to become famous in England, where artists were regarded as part of the service industry. After an endless series of cycles spent trying to meet the right people and live a lifestyle worthy of a great artist, he came to the realization that painting was the real goal, and returned to America.

The movie version, with Spencer Tracy and a very young Robert Young (later of the TV show, Father Knows Best) was, of course, not true to the book and didn't cover the second half which turned the book from a great adventure book into a classic work about art, dreams and life.

It did keep one key scene from the book, where Langdon was wounded after a battle, and had to be helped to walk by an Native American woman and a kid. The Rangers were being pursued by the French Army and Abernaki Warriors, and Rogers couldn't slow the column down for just one man. Before Rogers left them, he reminded Langdon that the other soldiers just wanted to survive, but he wanted to survive to be a painter. Langdon had, in other words, a higher goal.

So Langdon made himself keep going, and made it back. It was a tortuous march, and very much about will power and seeing something beyond the situation at hand. Each painful step had as much to do with the goal as any visions of great paintings and success. That's an idea that influenced a lot of decisions in my book when it gets to the Winter of 2016.

I had a lot of dreams out there in the car, but taking good care of Ivy, going on daily hikes to stay fit, not eating junk food, staying as clean as possible, and avoiding drugs and alcohol wasn't just to stay busy or even fight depression. It was the immediate steps that needed to be taken once I realized that writing a book was a dream.

A lot of artists need second jobs in order to create, and it's natural to want to be somewhere else while working, but that work is still part of the dream, necessary to reach a goal. I remember reading an interview with a guy who worked for Bill Graham, who founded the legendary Fillmore concert venues. He said, that at the shows, Bill could be seen mopping up a spill in the bathroom because to him, it was all the same job.

I knew that I was, among other things, a writer. I wrote to find myself, to find people to help me survive, and felt that being a writer was a key to getting out. I started to write the book, but my blog got equal attention because that was the audience that was already there. 

In writing terms; the book is a dream, the blog is my writing world as it now exists. Everything I did out there in the car wasn't just to get out, but to continue being an artist. The danger of just wishing or hoping for a good future is that instead of taking the steps to get there, you wait, and every empty day reinforces the feeling of failure. 

I remember one of the the things I wrote that summer was that movement was survival, that one moved towards life or death. At the time, it was about the importance of getting the car running again, but it was also an allegory about how one faced life on the streets. There's no static states in nature, those who just sat out there and did nothing got worse.

What one does in the present is very much part of the future.


...William Makepeace Thackeray and The Book Of Snobs...

Thackeray's "Book Of Snobs" is a minor work, or seemed so until realizing that my internet-attention span mind had run ahead of the narrative and missed the joke, which was that the various types of snobs were being described and categorized by a fellow snob.

Thackeray used a fake character, one of the oldest literary devices to deliver satire, who was just as snobby as his subjects. One reason was, and it's true even now, it can be dangerous to satirize under one's own name. George Orwell once noted that Shakespeare would have have such material come out of the mouth of a jester or some such character to make it seem less threatening or incendiary.

Thackeray's book could only have been written in his time, to an smaller audience that was used to good writing and had the patience to read a full piece before reacting. Thackerey was confident enough to let the humor properly develop and was patient about when to land a punch line. 

Which isn't asserting that the times were better. Back then, feelings about slights, real or imagined could require an exchange of pistol fire at 20 paces (generally 30 feet or so). A cynic might point out that the distance was probably beyond the practical range of pistols of that era, but we can assume some bravery was required if historical accounts are true.

In another of his works, Barry Lyndon, a fake autobiography by a Irish rogue, the book got funnier as the story developed as he used the literary device of "editors notes" that start off as standard corrections to the text, then become obvious "corrections" of the facts. The reader begins to see Barry's narrative from the Editor's point of view, that the story is not the heroic tale it appears to be on the surface. It's written in the flowery language used by that era's historians so it's also a satire of contemporary accounts of great feats and heroes.

...Tom Wolfe, and satire....

A modern equivalent to Thackeray would be Tom Wolfe. Though his work was part of the "new journalism," or whatever, his articles had a similar outlook and approach. His humor wasn't cruel, and he generally did his best to present the subjects in as much of their point of view as possible.

Passages from his classic "Electric Kool Aid Acid Test" was often as psychedelic as the uttering of the Prankster leader, Author Ken Kesey. Tom was a New York Dandy, and no where near being a hippie, and because of that caught important details like Kesey's trip not being an attempt to simply create a new entertainment experience but one with spiritual/religious underpinnings. The later resistance from his followers who wanted to keep the Acid Tests as a party trip, once money came into it, was very much like what happens to a religion once a church gets involved. 

The undermining of Kesey's desire to move the Acid Tests into the realm of further exploration by those who'd begun to make money from the shows was something an outsider would see, one who'd seen how Andy Warhol had manipulated a similar trip in New York.

It was an empathetic view, that saw past Kesey's legal troubles at the time and the surface expressions of support from various hangers on. It was possible to see all that nuance because from the start, Wolfe depicted the life of Kesey and the Pranksters exactly as they lived it, without injecting his attitudes into the story. He could keep his own ego in check.

Tom had a Thackeray-like ability to make a subject or person seem funny without necessarily lampooning, which is a rare talent. One reason is that humans are funny creatures, and do funny things. One of the main cruxes of Kesey's world was the recognition that each person was a separate universe, or in his view, a movie, and idiosyncrasies were a case of "it is what it is." Behavior that had always existed, but didn't always get described in print.

By telling the story from the subjects point of view, Wolfe was able to describe the decline of the Acid Tests from exploration to commercial concern, which had many levels in play, but was essentially a case of followers fixating on ritual, and the age old problems that occur when money is involved. The early stages were financed by Kesey from his book royalties, but once other income streams were possible from peripheral activities like the music, drug sales, light shows and such, self interest came into play and it all became political.

Wolfe didn't insert any of his own judgement, and like Thackeray had the patience to let the story tell it all. That's a real ability, and it shows an ability to see the subject and describe details that might not be noticed if being viewed from a biased lens, and it shows a trust in the audience (or indifference to their feelings, the result is the same).

Modern satire is becoming less subtle. Maybe publications like the Onion can still satirize subtleties in behavior but these days laughs have to be delivered up front, and indeed, punch lines are now necessary or people might miss the point or just go into reaction mode.

...blessings and curses...

Immediacy is both the Internet's blessing and curse. In the age of print and even TV, a satirist could produce work, and the means to attack back was limited and subject to filters which included a time element that reduced the reactive rage type stuff. It gave a writer a reasonable amount of freedom to create without fear.

If a person didn't like what they read or saw, he or she had to write a letter saying so, and after mailing it, had to wait until an editor or some such person read it, and either forwarded it to the author or printed it in the next issue, etc. It was also understood that civility was required because if one just raved the letter would be put aside and never see print.

The Internet has eliminated that barrier, which was in effect a protocol and democratized the old relationship of publication and reader. A satirical piece can invoke reaction from a variety of sources from comment sections (not even related to the actual pub), blogs and social media and while that empowers readers, it can force a media company to please or avoid offending a customer base.

A good example is National Lampoon, which was pissing everybody off at first but eventually had to lean left as the audience segment that mattered most to advertisers was centered in colleges and some Baby Boomers who'd come a long way baby and rediscovered the financial joys of joining the establishment, but still wanted rebellion in small doses.

A writer like William Makepeace Thackeray could write satire in the Internet age, but he'd have had to accept a smaller audience and certainly constant attacks from trolls. 

...Internet discussion...

Internet discussion is a varying stew of intelligent points, gotcha you jerk, quotes from googled sources or experts, quotes purported to be from googled sources or an expert, fake quotes, quotes from a rented expert, and road rage. Sometimes, like in sports or guitar forums, all of the above is present.

None of that is new, not even the vehemence, as people could end up talking like that to each other in ancient times. However, the people who talked like that didn't hide behind handles and knew who they were insulting and had to be willing to be at the business end of a dueling sword, though a cynic might point out that historical records indicate that a higher number of duels were reported to be fought than actual documented deaths from such scrimmages. Again, we can assume some bravery was required if historical accounts are true.

Thackeray was onto something with his detailed treatise on snobs. He correctly noted a tendency of the English race to display that quality due to the nation's affluence which made snobbery accessible to many, which if you substituted "Americans" would bring that hoary old work into relevance. 

What the English Master didn't delineate was how so many types of snobs could exist but it wasn't intended to be a true think piece. After all, back then as now, if you wanted to make money from commodity type works then it was best to just get on with it and crank out the next series so that enough income was generated to permit a nice lifestyle and better, more artistic works. I doubt he gave it as much afterthought as I'm giving it.

...back to Wolfe, subcultures, and experts for a moment...

Tom Wolfe made the astute observation that America was a land of subcultures, each of which having it's own celebrities and even hierarchy. A person may not be on Page Six or National Enquirer but within the cult, of say, hot dog eating, one could be the next Led Zeppelin. It's a matter of scale, but the dynamics are often the same.

I remember watching an arm wrestling championship on TV, and the contestants behaved pretty much like athletes in a more profitable sport like Boxing; trying to psych each out, showing disdain, super sized egos, etc. 

The Internet added a new twist in that everyone could put their passion or interest into the web, and many exotic or offbeat interests found cult audiences and inevitably, created celebrities. Within a cult, proficiency is the difference between men and boys, but again, cash is king. If a skateboarder gets sponsors, their star power increases, and at that point if the guy wants to act like a jerk, it becomes a prerogative (until the money runs out).

In a more diffuse situation, like Internet Health and Nutrition or anything requiring actual facts, then the word of "experts" and such become important, though more than a few gurus have found out the hard way that people prefer "facts" that confirm their beliefs (or make somebody they don't like wrong). The Internet expert market is healthy, so much so that the field is vast and riddled with unvetted sages and fakes. Nothing new, of course, just an increase in scale.

One big reason for the rise of experts is that the Internet creates the impression that data is an ability or even wisdom. "Answers" are flat out right or wrong, or can become belief systems. Online debates can mirror B-movie courtroom dramas where people discredit whole arguments by finding one fact that's wrong and expect the other's confidence to collapse. If it doesn't, then snooty dismissals or insults follow.

Contrary to any belief that's been expressed that this is a unique Information Age, there was just as much "data" floating about centuries ago. If you had some spare time from working dawn till dusk to afford a bowl of porridge, and wondered about the cosmos or if there were aliens walking about posing as humans, there were plenty of experts back then that would give you an answer and back it up with "facts."

Of course, if you phrased the question wrong or said the wrong thing to the wrong crowd, it might be followed by a session with Doctor Stake and Professor Fire, which in these civilized times rarely happens, though people might publicly slander you, hack your accounts, and try to ruin your life.

All of this used to be harmless fun, but snobbery is becoming less about being high falutin or thinking others are stupid (which is acceptable human behavior on social networks) and moves into the realm of church-based religion or social fascism complete with excommunication, thought policing, or taking an imaginary stick to the poltroon to save their soul.

That's just nutrition, it gets worse when the subject is politics.

These days, quipping about snobs isn't going to produce chuckles when being snooty is acceptable behavior in countries where every man is a king (women too, where required by law). Democracy (via the Internet) gives the masses an opportunity to look down on their fellow man.

Thackeray's Book Of Snobs or Barry Lyndon are a period pieces, and many modern readers might find the works too mannered. It's from an age when the best satirists tried to get people to look at themselves and see the humor or absurdity in their behavior instead of taking the easy route of ridicule or insult. That was a fine skill, and worth any serious writer's time to study. Where such an ability could be applied in these times, I couldn't tell you.

Whether Thackeray's books are brilliant or not isn't for me to to judge, but I will say that both are brilliantly written.

"Sannoko may be the site of legends, but not of history."

- Junichiro Tanizaki (Arrowroot 1930, translated by Anthony Chambers 

The first draft of my book was influenced by "Arrowroot," by Junichiro Tanizaki. Arrowroot was called a hybrid of essay and novel, which was somewhat similar to works like Hermann Hesse's "Steppenwolf" or Melville's "Moby Dick," each which used a scholarly treatise to delineate a central theme in the book. Tanizaki's approach was different in that the essay passages were more tightly integrated into the narrative.

Neither approaches were superior, though in western culture there's a tendency to try to make sure such digressions seem technically sound to ensure the point is understood, and perhaps less subject to attack. There's a danger when presenting factual information as it can become a sticking point where readers can disagree with it (or dismiss it) and not be able to get past that.

I completely understand. To this day I still think the movie "Patton" with George C, Scott was flawed because they used the wrong kind of tanks in the battle scenes.

Hesse and Melville had a different intent, as their in-book essays were attempts to educate, particularly in the latter's case. Melville's long essay about whales was very similar in intent to Tanizaki's, to permeate the work with a historic and mystical aura.
Tanizaki's genius was that the essays were so well integrated that it felt like a great storyteller was filling you in on the background stuff while enroute to this remote village, which had the result of making it seem more alluring as the book progressed.

The first draft flowed well, but hadn't addressed the variety of perceptions that exist about the homeless. I felt the draft could set off an storm of chapter and verse nitpicking (more on that later), class conscious trolling, and get entangled in the contentious politics of the social welfare system. 

In other words, I didn't do a very good job of writing a book that's set in the homeless scene. I still liked the story, but for the second draft, it was time to reassess and rethink the delivery. Many writers experience the same thing. You start off thinking writing is all inspiration and genius, then find that it's really about getting that spark expressed in the real world. Then technical skill, passion, and plain stubbornness become important. 

That's all in the realm of technique.

I can describe a scene about a young female panhandler in detail, for example, and if insecure about my ability to bring the reader into it, could bring stock images of pathos into it, or focus on standard images of destitution that in this jaded society, may not even invoke pity in harder hearts. 

The woman's fate will come off as tragedy (rather than comeuppance) if her humanity is communicated in a way that doesn't trigger responses triggered by symbols or modern accident scene voyeurism. My job would be to show her as a person who arrived at that moment after a long series of incidents that cascaded into disaster.

...more about process....

What I'm going to talk about is in the book, but will share more detail about that character. Keep in mind, it's not "advice" or a #writingtip or anything like that. I'm just sharing a glimpse into my own "process" which if you're a regular reader of the blog, is a word that's interchangeable with "technical" because of my musical background (and having grown up in Silicon Valley).

Her opening scene doesn't have much in the way of physical description. I decided not to "paint a picture" of the young woman. The main reason is that far too many people have a reflexive image of a smelly, dirty person with a drugged expression that will fill in the blanks and override any description before it can develop. I avoided keywords that regularly pop up in media stories about the homeless for that reason.

I handled her exposition by setting it well after the original contact so the conversation was between two acquaintances, then switched the narrative to her inner dialogue, which worked better to bring in the backstory. In other words, the story stays in motion with active images to fill the vacuum until her image is fully set.

It's not just about getting into the mind of the subject, but also the reader. You want that image to be yours, what you've written, not simply a validation of stereotypes. If the reader doesn't see it my way, I can live with that, but I want them to disagree or reject what's presented on the book's terms.

...about smell...

Like I said earlier, I avoided keywords. A good example is the word "smell," which is an old stereotype, like "the great unwashed" and so on.

Many female panhandlers, at least the younger ones, rarely smelled bad or looked dirty (at least at first). Part of that was because newbie homeless still worked hard on their appearance, and because in the panhandling world, women were often the "breadwinners" and needed to be on point.

In Silicon Valley, for example, people encounter homeless people every day and never know it. Sure, they know about the homeless camps and the druggies seen in the media (or on the street in places like San Francisco), but thousands live in RVs or cars because service sector jobs don't pay enough to a get a room (even motels are generally filled up by late afternoon). 

They can stay clean because many large businesses have showers, and if not that, there's 24 hour gyms. Most are very aware that smell and appearance are the signs most people associate with the homeless, and even the transient taking a bath in the restroom sink is doing it to feel as normal as possible, however futile the effort is.

The young panhandler had a plot arc that took about half a year to become tragic. When she first appears, you'd only know she was homeless because of the cardboard sign that said so, though as the book reveals, the message on it was also an early sign of depression.

Knowing if she smelled bad, or if the clothes were all she had, weren't things any normal person will know right away. Particularly outside where there's a breeze. An author can fall into the trap of presenting a minutely detailed image, but that's not how perception works. Knowledge comes in layers, over a period of time frame (no matter how compressed).

The initial physical description is how it would look at a glance, then more details emerge.
That cursory impression was due to the etiquette out there. Staring or making direct eye contact could be interpreted as aggressive. I really didn't "see" her then, as my main concern was making sure our conversation didn't look flirtatious, which could bring an aggressive male in on me (I go into this aspect of street life later, of always having to assume one is under observation).

I talk to her standing sideways, looking off in my direction of travel and doing a quick 360 scan to make sure my approach wasn't misinterpreted by a boyfriend who could be watching, and she pets Ivy and talks in her direction. We both were posturing so that from a distance, it could be seen that the conversation was casual and about my dog.

...Rashomon...

The story then places you into the mind of the young woman, and those who walked by or watched from a distance. Some males gave money right away, then hit on her, or in some cases, did the male thing and gave detailed advice, then hit on her.

In another instance, her red hair catches a man's attention which puts him into rescuing prince mode. Yet another guy is far off, and is studying her as a possible candidate to pimp at the truck stop motel. An older woman whose own daughter is a runaway stops, gives her some cash and walks off with a lot of mixed feelings and regrets.

The panhandler saw things too, and was streetwise enough to know that a pimp was beginning to stalk her, understood that the guys wanted sex, and so on. Behind that cheery smile was a damaged, but smart woman who knew that she was in real trouble.

Being a street beggar was a label. What she was and why, what she could be, was really part of a bigger picture. It affected how men related to her, and the label had a stigma that removed many of the social protections that a woman normally has. That tag was important in the sense that it affected how she and others acted, yet on a deeper level, it has very little to do with what she was and why.

Her final story is a tragedy because of what she was and could have been, not because of what happened to her. I should add, because of what will be learned about her, you'll realize that nothing short of death will prevent her redemption. I felt that way after seeing her story unfold, perhaps you will too.

...why the book starts in the summer of 2016 in Gilroy, and eyes watching...

That eight week period, which involved being stuck on a street with a broken down car for six of the weeks, wasn't my first glimpse into the homeless scene. I'd seen it up north in Marin County and the SF Bay Area but at the time had the means to be insulated from those scenes, even if it was just being able to afford a motel room or being near a rest stop.

I side stepped a lot of trouble by avoiding drugs, and it helped being male, which made me useless to most predators. You could stay "under the radar," so to speak, if mobile (car, RV, etc) but being on the periphery had it's dangers. You can become "invisible" to society, or find a "blind spot" to hide in, but can't make the mistake of thinking that it's a safe place. The reality is that people are always watching and you're often under camera in many places. 

One common element of contacts with other homeless was that they watched me for days beforehand. People who immediately walked around introducing themselves were viewed warily for a variety of reasons, but mainly because it could be someone who didn't get it that being careless was dangerous out there.

The local police in the various areas were aware of me, had already stopped me at least once and my name, record (luckily clean) and vehicle were known to them. Dealers had already checked me out and knew if I were a customer, a nothing, or whether or not I was a possible informant or squealer. 

A local Christian cult regularly checked in on the homeless to recruit new members (and add any of their state or local aid to their coffers). There were vigilantes who constantly watched or harangued us, called the police over real or imagined crimes and of course, the homeless who watched each other and could spot a kindred spirit even in a large crowd.

I always assumed people were watching me, and that each pair of eyes had attitudes about what they saw, and it wasn't always pity. Most minorities and certainly women know that feeling of constantly being watched in public. Which is why the young panhandler and I didn't notice much about each other, we were both too busy staying aware of our surroundings. The scene in the book does paint a picture but the details weren't physical but physiological.



...women and money...

There is a strong undercurrent of feminism in the book. These days the issue has become as diffuse as a religion, and has political, social and emotional dimensions, and the latter was very present in the homeless world. All of feminism's successes and failures, and the best and worst of male attitudes were present.

The core issue, in my mind, is power over women and what men have done with that power. A male dominated system isn't really about superiority over women. That's a concept that only a specific subset of males who are afraid of or hate women believe in. 

The real damage to women is that male domination is an exclusion from the economic game of life. Such competition isn't just an element of poverty and homelessness, it's also a major factor in issues such as feminism. Discrimination is about exclusion, which historically is about domination of other males and the pecking order of wealth and opportunity. In other words, it's a man's world.

Power is said to a corrupting influence, but harassment reveals much about the abuser's  psyche. A traditional male patriarchy mandates the protection of women, but like many systems based on power, that sense of responsibility can be changed on a whim or not applied to women who don't toe the line. The Madonna/Whore dichotomy or fallen woman stereotype is very much part of a carrot and stick application of the doctrine.

Some men will point to cases of women who've harassed men, or women who screwed them over, which only proves the point about power, and like any argument which cherry picks anecdotes to advance a generalization to discredit women, it's proves nothing. I wouldn't assert that Americans are all criminals by using prison convicts as an example, and no sensible person would take me seriously if I did.

...battle royale of the sexes...

The Battle of the sexes was lost a long time ago. Women haven't won yet, and complete victory for either side isn't a sure thing.

Men had centuries to create a viable system of second banana style womanhood and instead couched surfed until it could only be maintained by physical and economic coercion. It was only a matter of time before women began to realize, probably after the last of the saber tooth tigers died off, that their main predators were males.

That's in the broader sense of theory. Most of the actual battles on the legal end of the issue are about opportunity, and economic competition, which is the most contentious aspect even between males. That's the easy part, the social aspect is more complicated, though it should be noted that on the whole, men and women do get along.

...social verses law....

That brings up an interesting point, which relates to any issue, which is the difference between legal and social change. 

The Founding Fathers wrote a constitution that avoids addressing social behavior and mores, which was not only considered the province of churches and other such groups, but because of what has happened historically when social behaviors were criminalized.

A society does have to make acts like murder illegal, even if the law can't prevent such crimes. In the case of dueling, for example, it was once considered an honorable way to settle disputes. It had to be outlawed for a number of common sense reasons. That was a case where societal attitudes changed, but even after it was outlawed, men still did it for the same reason, that it was seen as a definitive way to settle things.

These days, most would agree that dueling is a bad way to settle differences, but most fist fights are just duels that stay within the law. It's a social behavior that persists. The law serves the useful purpose of containing that behavior so (most) people don't get killed over money or honor and we know that it doesn't necessarily change the underlying attitude.

Laws to mandate equality between men and women are the same thing, it simply seeks to at least contain the behavior associated with discrimination and a realist realizes it changes very little in terms of society. There'll always be men who'll marginalize women, and will do so in every way they can get away with, but changing the laws does create change.

Again, that's just the broad picture, mainly the battleground of theorists, armchair generals, politicians and those who want to sell something. 

The reality is that most of us read what the various experts say and argue about, but on the personal level, men and women just work it out among themselves. Men who want a housewife can wait till one comes along, and women who want to be independent can go ahead and do it. It's not a perfect process, but life isn't cut and dried. 

Any real change will always be societal, about what actually happens in daily life. Marriages generally work, men and women get at least part of what they want, and most love each other and try to make each other happy.

Also, stripped of any notions of power or maleness, all of the fun things men like to do from hanging out in man caves, watching sports, or whatever don't need to go away. Being a traditional or macho male is perfectly fine but would be better as a stated sexual preference, as there are women who prefer that. Very little would have to change if women became truly equal to men. The alpha behaviors described as maleness are a stereotype that traps both sexes.

If men collectively changed their view of women, it wouldn't be seen as weakness. Historians would cite it as one of the most momentous evolutions in modern history, a paradigm reversing centuries of oppression, though it'd be best to do it while men still write most of the history books if credit for the feat is desired.

...another point about the mentally ill...

I started a thread in the last entry about the mentally ill, and will continue that in a later blog, but want to address a point here.

People talk about the mentally ill (out there), and focus on the extreme cases as if that's all there is. I've talked about the apathy present in many, and others have described it in harsher terms like laziness, lack of desire, drug use, criminality and so on.

The thing is, there's a lot more mental illness out there than even the troll element makes out. That apathy was a symptom, that I understood after being out there for a while. A lot of that is depression, often untreated. 

People don't just pop up in camps and streets, they end up there after a chain of events turned catastrophic. Sure, there's drug use, severe mental illness, but also victims of financial disaster, elderly on fixed incomes priced out of homes, and women whose only escape from abuse in an overheated real estate market means sleeping in a car (if they were lucky).

The point is that being homelessness isn't necessarily what devastated them, many were damaged going in. I can't tell you many of the people might be able to work their way out if simply treated for depression, but I know more than a few could. Drug abuse is generally self medicating, and frankly a lot of what you see as a homeless person can make drugs, many of which are cheaper than Big Pharma products, seem attractive.

The harmful part of making the homeless look like a bunch of druggies and crazies, besides affecting societies' willingness to handle it as a human issue, is that it can trigger or aggravate a lot of conditions like shame, guilt, and other emotions of defeat that can prevent people from seeking treatment. Yet in most urban areas, mental health help is available if the homeless could be made to feel that there was no shame in it. That's a problem in regular society too, and the solution is generally stated as awareness, and support. 

Much of what you see in the media about the homeless is true, it's just that it's a small part of the picture, the images most likely to create strong emotions, generate clicks and feed narratives. The reality is that there's a lot of people, both deserving and undeserving, and in varying states of pain and distress, and much of it treatable.

One of the biggest lessons I learned out there was that the acceptance and support I got from the Internet, was decisive and kept me from giving up. Acceptance didn't feed Ivy and me, but it kept me from giving up even after severe setbacks. It enabled me to ask for help, and while self esteem comes from within, having it reinforced by others makes it possible to believe when everything around you seems to indicate otherwise.




...changes...

I'm going to be changing the look of this blog. As you can see, I'm adding images from a sketchbook and other graphics to break up the text-heavy appearance. The illustrations are going to kept as casual drawings from a sketchbook, as that fits the freewheeling sprawl of this blog.

Pen and ink drawing have been a love and hobby since my teens, so it's a definite pleasure to add those to the blog. Also, it's a good warmup, so to speak, as I've decided to illustrate the book. More about that in the next blog, as well as a section on my freelance writing and publishing days, and why pen and ink has always been my favorite media.

Note: All images copyright 2019 by Al Handa

-Al Handa


Main Boogie Underground Twitter:
@alhanda


The Al & Ivy Homeless Literary Journal Archive (some of the earliest entries):






































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

On The Road With Al & Ivy: A Literary Homeless Journal 2/17

 

"And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep...tired...or it malingers"

"I am no prophet-and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat,
and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid."

-T.S. Eliot (The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock)

...freeloaders and other terms...

One of the biggest arguments against the homeless is that they're a bunch of freeloaders. Secondary argument that's sometimes applied to them is that they "don't pay taxes," and live off society.

The argument that they don't pay taxes is generally based on whether they pay state or federal income tax. The fact is around 50% of the population doesn't pay federal income tax or live off of some sort of government assistance...not to mention that virtually all tax cheats are from the non-homeless population.

The homeless, regardless of how they get their income, if any, pay most of the same taxes as most respectable society. They pay sales tax, tolls, and various fees. Most buy goods and services like everyone else, and contribute to the economy. The homeless who panhandle aren't doing it to amass a fortune, they're doing it to buy services and goods. They don't hide it overseas to avoid taxes.

If it is for drugs, they're patronizing the same distributors who serve respectable society's needs, and are rarely the prime customers. 

Which I should add, it's a business that in many cases has cost the lives of tens of thousands of Mexicans and Americans in drug wars over market share and contributed to massive corruption in society. Most Americans buy drugs that has blood on it.

Most Americans don't realize they are also technically "freeloaders." That is to say, "subsidized" services. Though I'd rather term it as interdependence.

If you take a look at the average bill of somebody who sends their kid to a private school, that's closer to the actual cost. Most schools wouldn't survive without bond measures, property taxes on people who don't have kids, government subsidies, and people willing to buy candy and other consumer goods for school fund raisers.

Most people wouldn't have health insurance if the people who were healthy weren't paying into the system. People in their SUVs don't have to wait in a gas line, or endure gas rationing, thanks to the government spending billions in the Middle East and sacrificing the lives of soldiers, many of whom are from the poor, not the upper class, to preserve the oil supply from the Middle East and to avoid putting up with unsightly oil platforms off the Malibu coast. It won't be the elite whose water supply is destroyed by fracking.

If everybody had to pay for the public street in front of their homes and apartments, our neighborhoods would be a checkerboard of concrete, gravel, and dirt. Somebody, somewhere, is helping to pay for that pavement who isn't benefiting from it, due to the nature of the tax system.

Virtually all Americans are benefiting from cheaper goods manufactured by overseas factories that hire people for wages no American would ever tolerate. That also goes for our food.

The list could go on, and the list wouldn't be complete without the billions, and probably trillions wasted by government officials in their everyday duties and corrupt deals that the population shrugs off and generally tolerates as being out of their control. 

There's a lot Americans working in government funded projects that are unnecessary, or for devices and weapons that will never work as advertised, or see combat. These people are not perceived as crooks, or people ripping off society, but as hard-working people just trying to make a living...at taxpayer expense. It's a matter of perception, and often are class notions of what's respectable or not.

Without taxpayer help through disaster relief, there'd be hundreds of thousands of people added to the homeless population after each hurricane, flood or tornado. The distance separating the two groups is smaller than one might think.

...the homeless aren't all saints...

That doesn't mean that every homeless person is a worthwhile human being, and contributes to society, but that goes for members of respectable society.

To their credit, most Americans don't view homeless as worthless, vermin, or freeloaders. Such terms are generally applied by trolls, and a certain segment of the population that is self-centered, and lacking empathy for their fellow man.

America was built by homeless people having to leave their countries to start a new life, and who came willingly or unwillingly. Notwithstanding the fact that the process involved screwing over a lot of native Americans, the important point is that even the richest American are only a few generations removed from people who were often not much different than at least some of today's homeless, and in more than a few cases got their fortunes through criminal activity or labor practices that are now outlawed.

The sympathetic Grapes of Wrath image of the homeless workers came later. In their time, they were called "Okies" and more often than not, looked at with contempt. Acceptance came later as these Americans were finally seen as human beings.

...perception counts...

We're entering an era of change with AI and robots that will be as most momentous and cruelly Darwinian as the Industrial Age...the younger generation is moving into the mainstream workplace and replacing older workers, and rightly so, it's their turn...big business is working overtime to make humans obsolete...the old Robber Barons and Captains of Industry made very little attempt to mitigate the effects of change, as it wasn't their concern, and the high tech visionaries who dream of an automated society aren't giving much thought to what humans will do without a job or relevant job skills.

The only help many of us will get as society changes will be from other ordinary people, both from direct help and in forcing governments to do their job of seeing to everyone's welfare and not an elite.

If treatment of homeless continues its current trend towards trying to force them into an already overloaded social services system and unregulated shelters, it'll be like refugee camps and badly run jails...if society doesn't begin to recognize that the homeless are a diverse group and need a variety of effective services and shouldn't be lumped into a media defined rabble, then the institutional knowledge won't be there to handle the large groups of people who will be displaced by the technological changes in the next decade.

I think it starts with casting aside the various media images, and humanizing the problem...the difference between thinking homeless people are losers or parasites, and viewing workers displaced by robotics and AI tech as regrettable casualties of progress will be very slight, as the contempt shown to those two groups will be the same in nature once poverty takes hold, and the unemployed begin to overtax social support systems and the remaining taxpayers begin to feel the pinch. Political liberalism can become social conservatism when the tax rate begin to climb.

If you wonder how the economic elite views the future; it's a vision that sees millions on welfare, and the rich living in bunkers and in offshore havens to escape the wrath of those affected by the obsolescence of human labor. These are the future visionaries.

The rising cost of sending a kid to college should have been a warning to society that entry into the future economy would only be available to an ever shrinking number of  people who could afford it. That, and many other things will be the legacy of generations that preferred spending money on big screen TVs and cheap overseas labor to social infrastructure.

...the gift to be simple...

One of the foot homeless around here is an old timer...you can tell because instead of a single cart he pulls along a train with a two wheeled baby bike ricksha as a caboose. Looks around 60 or so, well tanned from the elements and with a trimmed beard.

He hangs around outside of the various stores on the benches, and drinks white wine. Sometimes there's others there and they just hang out, or he sits alone quietly looking very tired. Doesn't openly panhandle, so there's store regulars he depends on to spot him looking desolate or he knows by experience who to hit up for cash. 

Everything about the guy shows experience at survival at this level, right down to his train being properly tarped before rain hits.

He's one type of homeless that scares me the most...his life is a possible outcome...without ambition or dreams, I could just become another adept survivor who lives in a small world with bottles of cheap wine as my milestones. There must have been a time when he wanted more, and there must have been a moment or series of events that crushed that hope. 

Everyone has moments of self doubt, or fear...mine is that I haven't recognized where I'm really at and that I'm really a mentally ill homeless person living in a dream world, though Ivy reminds me three times a day that I'm really a dog feeder...a brutal reality, but purpose does give meaning, no matter how small. I'm not the first person whose sanity was saved by a dog.

Those who think that God, dreams, ambition, or goals are meaningless in the face of "reality" or that life has to have winners and losers just haven't seen enough of life yet. This guy still can drop further till they have to pick him up off the grass in the downtown park. He's moving downwards and like many in the real world, thinks things are under control and continues the slide. He's the same as all of us, he's just further down the hill, and what direction you're going in still makes a difference.

...my one year anniversary...

Update 2/20: Today is the one year anniversary of the day I became homeless. My first thought was to treat it like my birthday, that is to say no big deal, but it's also a day of thanks...I'm sitting in the second of three storms due this week, in a car with my dear friend Ivy, and while it isn't exactly a wonderful day, it's far from a bad one.

The insurance company granted me an extension on my policy, adding their prayers for my situation, and a recent flow of donations ensured that Ivy and I have decent food and water...it may not feel lucky to others but I've been seeing what these storms have done to other homeless, moving about in raincoats and some not, and I know it could be a lot worse. Saw another guy eating out of a garbage can last night, but as I approached with the intent I'd giving him a few dollars he took off, probably in fear, there was three highway patrol cars nearby, and I know the feeling and thoughts that might have been running through his mind. That plus no one likes being seen rummaging through a garbage can.

I saw something yesterday...I was in the lot doing the promo work and it was extremely windy. A hawk appeared in front of my car, and then just hovered, facing south, and just climbing and hovering higher and higher, did that for a couple of minutes. The thought came to mind, "a hawk soars higher in a strong wind," and it is similar to Native American thought that hawks were messengers from the spirit world, and in the Bible, from Job 39:26 King James "Does the hawk fly by your wisdom, and stretch her wings toward the south?"

I doubt that it means I'll win the lottery :-) and a strong wind means that there's more to endure, but there is a strong possibility of relocation south to Castro Valley this week and a haven where I can work on my new business and book, I'll know more Wednesday. So I think it's all more of a sign that my path is going to move further South again.

I started out homeless with very few friends and only the family being my daughter...in Silicon Valley, you lose a lot of friends after a layoff, though I'd hesitate to call such people real friends.

I spent the first few months making all the usual mistakes a homeless person makes, and hiding due to the usual embarrassment and shame...I punished myself after the usual new tech job contract didn't appear within a couple of months and ran afoul of the CHP and ended up in Gilroy...one of the things that changed was that I outed myself as homeless and asked for help, and found a world full of caring friends who've literally kept Ivy and me alive and in an independent shelter of a running car...I think that I'll be out of homelessness this year, it feels like it's nearing an end of a phase, and when that happens, I'll tell everyone who'll listen that it wouldn't have happened without the help of hundreds of people who help...none were rich or famous and none had anything to gain by helping and no one would have noticed if they didn't...the goodness of people is something I've seen and am convinced exists and it motivates me every day to keep trying...I've been able to avoid drugs and booze, and the crippling apathy of hopelessness, and self pity. I'm glad that Ive seen the things I've seen this year, I'll never be the same person I was a year ago, and I thank all of you for that.

-Al Handa

On The Road mini blog on Twitter:
@spaceageoracle

Main Boogie Underground Twitter:
@alhanda


The Al & Ivy Homeless Literary Journal Archive (some of the earliest entries):




THE IVY CORNER: Ivy seen below in various ads in her new job as shih tzu supermodel for Boogie Underground Media...very fun to be working her as a partner in this new venture.

A SPECIAL THANKS TO THESE PEOPLE WHO'VE HELPED SUPPORT THE BLOG BY BECOMING EARLY CUSTOMERS OF THE BOOGIE UNDERGROUND MEDIA MEDIA VENTURE:

 

Author Eric Wilder
"Ghost Of A Chance" 
now only $0.99!
Paranormal Cowboy #1
http://amzn.to/2aTPfy3


Pure: Book 1 of an exciting paranormal series!
#fantasy #romance and #urbanfantasy. 
https://www.amazon.com/Pure-Book-ebook/dp/B004XJ7NQI.


Stories with Humor, The Impossible, and Love
DISCOVERY AND LOVE...IN GETTIS Available NOW!
http://www.gerribowen.com/

 

Tia Shurina's Journey from half happy to all in happiness, Everything and a Happy Ending!

https://www.amazon.com/Everything-Happy-Ending-Tia-Shurina/dp/0578166038

On The Road With Al & Ivy: A Literary Homeless Chronicle 3/26


"I'm gonna tell you so you'll know
That old Blue's gone where the good dogs go
Singing ya-ho Blue, you good dog you"

- Traditional

"When I get to Heaven first thing I'll do
is grab my horn and call for Blue
Bye bye, Blue
You good dog, you"

- Roger McGuinn (Old Blue)

"Me and old Bugler, we'd run wild 
Blue tick hound and redneck child
We thought we were birds of a feather

Bugler's voice like Gabriel's horn
Up in the cypress all down through the corn
Golden sounds, yes to treasure

Bugler, Bugler bless your hide
Jesus gonna take you for a chariot ride
Say goodbye, say goodbye..."

- Larry Murray (Bugler)

Ivy passed away suddenly on March 17, 2017. This is my obituary on my best friend who was with me for so long and through so many tough times.

I adopted Ivy in late October of 2008. The big recession was starting to hit the solar industry, where I worked as a drafter. Two weeks after Ivy's adoption I was laid off. It began a futile year where I was talked into trying to get into a nursing program when thousands of women were out of work trying to do the same thing.

Ivy was estimated at between two and three years of age, and had spent that time as a breeding dog in an illegal shih tzu puppy farm that specialized in mating runts to breed "teacup shih tzus."

She spent that time in a cage, not shown affection, and when I got her, was distrustful and skittish. For the first two months she ran away at almost every opportunity until I began to understand that it was an escape reflex.

It was a panic reaction and that once she'd run a certain distance, she'd stop and try to get back. Sort of like a dog panic attack. The SOP became to follow her, catch her if possible, but just keep her in sight till she stopped. That was the best way as she was amazingly fast and agile.

Ivy eventually learned to trust me, and perhaps because I was her first human owner, became very attached to the point of having separation anxiety. Because of this, cage training was impossible as she'd try to chew her way out of the steel bars.

I eventually discovered that being in the car was calming to her so got into the habit of taking her wherever I went. I decided not to deal too much with the separation anxiety as it was a relief from what felt like an endless series of high speed chases. It also subsided with time.

The 2008 recession was tough, and we found ourselves in varied situations like a warehouse space in the Central Valley, to crowding together on a cot in a garage in Sunnyvale. 

Though times got tough, Ivy was always so full of cheer and happy to be in our pack that no mood ever stayed dark. When I read about therapy dogs, I know it's all true, their friendship is better medicine than any tranquilizer.

There eventually came a few years of prosperity, and Ivy only made it feel better. We saw many places together; from beaches down south, forests in the Sierras, hot dusty places like Bakersfield, and colder climes in Monterey and Capitola. She was a perfect traveling companion, never complaining, and very rarely any trouble.

We became homeless in 2016, due to a variety of factors and our travels started north in Marin county, and ended up in Gilroy and Salinas.

If anything, she got better at traveling, and she spent a year in the back seat of the Cadillac without ever becoming neurotic or temperamental. More than a few times any impatience or frustration at my situation would dissolve after looking at her relaxing and enjoying her pillows both as beds or toys. 

Humans often tend to feel that our supposed complexity entitles us to regard a simple enjoyment of life as the domain of the animal world, but I think that Ivy was maybe more attuned to the simplicity of life, and more into the moment.

 We put so many futures or pasts out there, color the world with labels of success or failure, and regret this or that, and don't realize that just relaxing on a bed or chair, without a care at that moment, should be simply enjoyed without the need for an explanation, dispensation from the Puritan ethic, or consumerism in the form of paid entertainment or chemicals.

She passed away on March 17th, and I know I'll miss her terribly in the days ahead.

I'd like to talk about what she meant to me and her legacy.

There wasn't a single day, even during her first two months, that she didn't make me smile or laugh. Even on the day of her passing, amidst all the tears, some memory or thought would bring a smile. Thinking of her now, sad as it feels, is still a pleasure and my thoughts are warm and loving, and as I look at the many pictures of her, so many of those showed how much she loved me.

In many of my projects, she was a key element. She had a flair for modeling, and showed an impressive variety of emotions and expressions. She had real charm, and knew it, which made it even more charming. She was my model as I learned photography and image editing.

Ivy was very smart, and developed a vocabulary of sounds and expressions, and constantly imitated any sounds I made as if to learn new words. She could read my moods, and would do things to make me laugh if I seemed irritable and if I seemed depressed or sad, she'd always come up and look as if to ask, what's the matter.

She and I were a pack, and whether it was our daily hikes or occasional sharing of a baked chicken, it was always a sweet sight to see her smiles and wagging tail when she saw a favorite activity was coming. She had a countless number of cute mannerisms.

One thing I'll miss is her night sounds, from her loud, baby like snoring, to her low groans to ask to be taken out, and conversations of repeated short grunts that she kept going as long as I replied. 

She enjoyed being tucked into bed, and liked a belly rub at bedtime, purring almost like a cat as she stretched out and soon it would turn into snoring as she drifted off to sleep. During the night if she woke and saw me having my usual difficulty sleeping, she'd move over near to my head and make herself available for petting, which I found was doing me a favor, not just her.

The night is very quiet now, and that's when I'll miss her the most. I put her tags on my backpack. People used to remark that they could always tell Ivy was coming because of the tinkling sound of all her tags and St. Christopher medal, and hearing those bell like sounds on a hike will be like having her spirit watching over me, a sound better than any song on my MP3 player.

I'll always see her in my mind, feel her presence, enjoy the time I spent with her and the lessons learned about unconditional love and forgiveness, and hope to blessed with an occasional visit from her in my dreams. You'll continue to see her here and elsewhere, as there's no reason she should simply disappear. The soul still echoes in this world.

Ivy was a gift and my time with her a pleasure to be cherished. If there were so many tears at her passing, it was because the love she gave and left behind was so deep and great.

God bless you Ivy, my best friend and companion. I was determined to take you out of homelessness with me, and I still intend to do that.

 

...gimme shelter...

One of the well known institutions of the homeless scene is the "shelter," which has become a term like "jail" or "natural food," which to say a generic term that nobody thinks too deeply about. People tell this or that homeless person to "go to a shelter," without realizing that it can be like "going to a restroom" and finding that it's a overflowing outhouse.

Shelters are a classic "solution" type fix by society, related to disaster relief measures to temporarily house large numbers of displaced people, and can vary in quality, as with any charity, society will rarely tolerate any complaints about their generosity.

A solution fix is where a problem is resolved by the giver, based on their opinion of what's best for the greatest number of people for the money available. Shelters are popular, except when located near nice neighborhoods who object to seeing human flotsam lowering their property values or on sites that turn out to have profitable potential to developers.

This is the reason that so many solutions suggested by activists, who tend to have actually talked and listened to homeless have ideas like tent cities and modular units shot down. That's why asking the age old question "do you have a solution" is futile...there's a lot of good solutions out there already for that single problem, the real question isn't even about money. A ton of money is being spent now on the problem, and all it's done is create both a class of dependents and what amounts to a Balkanized bureaucracy.

It's not an issue of whether to help the homeless...even the most rabid homeless hater would gladly see tax money spent to put the flotsam put at least somewhere else...the problem is that in many urban areas the available land has become too valuable to seemingly waste on homeless when it can used to turn a profit.

That's the reasoning behind gentrification, right back to days of old where Americans felt it was OK to wipe out or screw over the seemingly lazy Native Americans who just lived on land that had gold, rich farming soil or where the government needed a place to put poor whites.

The problem will always be "where," and the default generally is some building that can be turned into a shelter like a National Guard Armory that developers have no chance of getting their hands on, or old buildings in the ever shrinking warehouse districts. It's the biggest bang for the buck, and often can be done at least for a while before anyone notices and objects.

Best of all, it gives society a "go to" solution, like a jail, where one size fits all and the problem can be quickly put out of mind.

It's a great temporary solution when hundreds or thousands of people need shelter after a disaster, but will quickly come apart at the seams after a few weeks as a permanent living situation. You're sticking a multitude of unvetted personalities into close proximity with nowhere near the supervision of a jail or a department store. Even a jail will try to make sure the nuts and aggressive ones are kept away from the rest.

Even in a prison, where rigid supervision is possible due to a partial suspension of civil rights, it's simply impossible to control every type of behavior that can be hidden from view.

A good way to see how you feel about a shelter would be if you had to send your teenage son or daughter to one. It goes without saying the place would have to be checked out.

But what if the parent was told that the place would have a large number of males who would be living in very close proximity, some mentally ill, others who are active drug or alcohol users, some with felonies on their rap sheets, and that the shelter didn't have enough personnel to ensure the teenager's safety and that there was no guarantee that other users of the shelter would intervene to help if there was trouble? Keep in mind you'll always be told that there's proper supervision and so on.

Of course the answer would be no, but we herd people towards shelters all the time without a second thought and never worry that people are being sent into a refugee or concentration camp type situation.

I'm not saying all shelters are like this. Some have better funding and supervision, and will kick out the violent ones if they can catch them in the act.

The other problem with the shelters is that it's perceived as a uniform system like hospitals, but really isn't regulated as such. Each shelter is more likely than not an ad hoc implementation of the standard temporary disaster relief camp, and can vary in quality, and is essentially a random crowd situation that can evolve into an anarchy or jail yard politics in a short time,

I'd have to go a step further and say that imperfect as the system is, at least for now, it's probably better than more expensive programs that try to build housing units of various type in competition with developers in areas where real estate values are high or scarce, or even housing vouchers unless there's enough units available to make that program work.

I remember over a decade ago when Willie Brown suggested creating a tent city on public land as a possible way to ease the homeless problem, and the reaction became a microcosm of what drags most attempts at homeless solutions into inertia.

In short, the dialogue became a swirling mass of objections and arguments from trolls, homeless activists and organizations pro and con...with no polling of the homeless who would certainly have supported the idea, which I know because ad hoc tent cities are one of the most common forms of illegal homeless camps.

People argue that drugs and other illegal activities can be controlled better by legalizing and regulating it. Running a tent city on public land is essentially turning illegal overnight sleeping into organized camping and can regulated as such, and cheaper than trying to rent or buy real estate in a hot market.

One argument I often see in the troll section of most homeless articles is that such solutions are killed by homeless organization objections and activists, and there is a germ of truth to that...though it's often more a case of diverse groups fighting each other for influence and funding like a bunch of rats climbing over each other's backs to get at the feeder. The problem isn't sincerity, it's just human nature when any area, unregulated and Balkanized, is run by people who are unelected and often can't separate their egos from the cause.

That, and the usual "the benefits become a magnet for the homeless." The people who say that sort of thing are generally the same types who used to think property values went down if African Americans moved in or support profiling...it's just class based thinking and even if the phrase  has some truth to it, it's no more objectionable than people who knowingly buy homes in areas where federal funding will cover damage in hurricane zones or forest fires that cost millions to contain.

The fact is, the simplest solutions tend to work best, and in the case of shelters and tent cities, those form naturally, and if properly managed, would probably do more good than programs several times more expensive.

...one begins by saving pennies (phennings) one becomes rich from a lifetime of application - Frederick Forsyth (Dogs of War)

One of the skills that I've developed on my long hikes with Ivy is becoming an expert at terrain. I'm looking at the ground all the time, and after a year I've learned to read it like a book. I'm not sure I'm at the level of an old time apache scout, but I do notice things.

One thing I've noticed is people leave money on the ground.

I think the days of finding a $20 bill on the sidewalk is pretty much over, since everybody's looking for such things, including the homeless. I do notice that pennies and nickels, and occasionally quarters, are almost always lying on the ground. I see a couple or even a few on almost every walk.

The thing about a penny is that the copper that used to make it is probably more valuable than the face value of the coin. Of course it's illegal to melt pennies down, and turn them into ingots, but from what I've seen at recycle centers, and reading the constant stories of people stealing copper wiring, it would seem like that would be a natural progression for a coin that is almost worthless.

I made a habit of picking up the coins, because I figured at least it would make the walks profitable.

A year of hiking has netted me approximately six dollars. Two were one dollar bills, so I treat those as manna or thunderbolts from heaven, and not part of a serious search, and so estimate a four dollar profit from my labors.

I invested part of it in used books at the Salvation Army, on half off days, and have four books to show for it.

For the record, those are Tom Wolfe's Electric Kool Aid Acid Test, the Penguin Portable Beat Compilation, Ken Kesey's One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, and John Keegan's The Price Of Admiralty.

Those are pretty good titles, and I probably beat a dozen EBay resellers to the punch there, but I've always had a fool's luck in books, guitars, and old records.

I'd put the total Ebay price at around 20.00, or more in a used book store. The Keegan book could be even more than the ten dollar value I assigned it. Military history books are always popular.

I suppose that if I had the same razor sharp instincts in the stock market, I wouldn't be writing this blog, but Nature makes us all different and I guess that back when the first amphibians crawled up on the beach, I was off collecting sea shells or something...I'm sure that my hiking will someday yield up a bonus worthy of the effort expended.

...instruments of the broke and homeless, the charango...

I started this journey with an instrument collection roughly valued at around 16,000 dollars...as good instruments are quite liquid, though often not at the so called collector value, those were among the first to go when things got tight. Musicians have been selling their instruments to pay rent or eat since time began, or at least when they first thought it could actually be a living, so it's hardly a homeless trip.

There are survivors even in the worst massacres, and my instrument collection is no exception. My gear still includes an electricronic drum pad and Fender amp in storage (safe from me), assorted used harmonicas that no one in their right mind is going to buy, and the crown jewel, a vintage charango estimated to have been made by a Andean native in the 1980s.

Like with most vintage instruments, it's fun to believe the mythology.

My charango survived for two good reasons; one, almost no one knows what a charango is in my neck of the woods, and two, no one would buy it until I dropped the price to 20.00, and broke or not, I couldn't stomach that.

The origins of this ancient Andean stringed instrument are clouded in mythology, but ranges from being a copy of guitars and lutes brought over by the Conquistadors to being a outlaw instrument banned by the Spanish government bent on eradicating native music, and made small to be easily concealed.

I choose to believe the latter explanation as it adds mojo to my charango and is perfect for the image of a homeless guy hiding in plain sight. 

I do hide it, but for the more mundane reason of preventing theft. Plus there's always going to be an idiot out there who'll insist on playing it, showing off, and damaging it. For many musicians, letting someone else play their instrument ranks only slightly below sharing a wife or girlfriend, but above lending money.

Charangos are basically a ukulele strung like a lute, with double strings called courses, like a 12 string guitar or mandolin. I'll spare you the technical details like how it's tuned, as I don't tune it the standard way, but suffice to say, it sounds like a mandolin but with nylon strings.

The originals were made with an armadillo shell as the body, or bowl, and in modern times feature all wood construction. Some say wood sounds better, and to modern ears used to guitars or ukes, it probably does. The main reason wood is the most popular material now is that Andean Armadillos are now endangered and are embargoed.

The armadillo shell type does sound different. It's less rich sounding, and has a tone that's closer to a harp than a guitar. It has less volume than a wooden model, so when strummed hard it can sound more trebly, and it's harder to record properly.

I've played modern charangos, including a 1600.00 concert model (bought used) and ended up keeping the native made vintage version. It's harder to play, doesn't stay in tune really well, but of all the ones I've owned and played, it's the one that has the sound I hear in my brain. 

That, plus no one around here will buy it, so it stays, and it's survival in my collection smacks of destiny or God's will, and that only adds to the mojo of this outlaw instrument.

Here's an instrumental I recorded with my charango some years back:

A Charango Is Born In The Andes (by Handa-McGraw & The Internationals)

...my backpack needs to go on a diet...

I talked about scoot bags in my previous blog. The one I use currently is a single strap type, a nice little one made by the Swiss Army Knife guys that I was able to buy because of a donation specifically for a backpack.

The reason I prefer a single strap is because it's easy to swing one around while walking to get something out of it, as opposed to unstrapping a standard two strap type, and it limits the load that I can carry.

Load limit is important, because the thing about a scoot bag is that it's supposed to hold everything you need theoretically for a dire emergency. In my case, there would be various reasons why I could come back to the parking space or street, and find that my car gone. 

In that case the question is; what I would want out of that car if such a thing occurred.

The problem is that the bigger the pack, the more you think you need in a dire emergency. When I used to carry a regular backpack, I eventually loaded it up till it weighed almost 20 pounds. Which of course meant that I stopped carrying it on hikes.

The scoot bag is primarily a psychological tool to make you feel better. Since the contents will virtually never be used, it's really more like an anxiety medication.

I won't list out all the contents but suffice to say, if I came back and found my car gone, the pack would contain food and water to survive for three days, plus emergency shelter, power for my remaining devices, important paperwork, and sufficient weaponry to fight off wild animals.

Obviously in even in the most dire circumstances, I'm not going to go off camping for three days, but it's like having a computing device that has more capability than a normal will ever use, it just feels like more bang for the buck.

I remember in the ERT class the firemen who conducted the classes would say that no matter what your precautions, or what you think your emergency procedures are, the most important thing to realize is that in a major disaster, assume that you might be on your own for at least 24 to 48 hours. So that's the situation I load the pack for.

Still, a 12 pound pack gets heavy.

So I got rid of a useless plastic whistle, and had to use the camouflaged waterproof power pack so that got taken out. I also changed the three day food supply to one Cliff Bar, but kept the three day water supply since the cool puncture proof water envelopes are the reason I originally bought the survival kit in the first place. 

I struck grizzly bears, crocodiles, and rabid packs of wolves off the list of dangers, so I was able to reduce my arsenal to one small but very cool Old Timer sheath knife.

I kept the super duper compass with lame fold out 4x binoculars, and the admittedly heavy Klean Kanteen as both add the aura of survivablity to my kit. Believe it or not, I've had to use the compass a couple of times when lost out in the boonies or mountains when the cell phone signal went away. It's like waterproof matches, you never know when those will come in handy.

I'll let you know next month what the scoot bag configuration has been changed to in the ever evolving landscape of survival in the streets.

...some social commentary...

When tech people rhapsodize about AI, and robots, just tell them to get spell check working right first...

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

 

This is the cover for the upcoming book, Hide In Plain Sight, designed by Jenna Brooks, supervised and edited by Mutiny Rising Media. I think it's an absolutely perfect image.

I'm working on Chapter 11 of the rough draft, which will run 13 chapters, and am getting more and more excited as the book is taking shape.

Mutiny Rising Media had me start an author page on Facebook, and I'll begin putting on shorter items that came up in research for the book and pictures on that page.

Hide In Plain Site page on Facebook:



-Al Handa
The Al & Ivy Homeless Literary Journal Archive:





Here's the blurb for Boogie Underground Media:

Boogie Underground Media promotion.
Email techmek@yahoo.com for list of services and prices starting from only $5.00!

A SPECIAL THANKS TO THESE PEOPLE WHO'VE HELPED SUPPORT THE BLOG BY BECOMING EARLY CUSTOMERS OF THE BOOGIE UNDERGROUND MEDIA MEDIA VENTURE:

 

Angela B. Mortimer's sexy SciFi Series: a meditation on sacrifice, rites of passage & illumination!
https://www.amazon.com/Angela-B.-Mortimer/e/B00C8G2RGE

 

A broken woman confronting herself & finding redemption, traveling back in time to 19th Century Ireland during the Potato Famine.

https://www.amazon.com/Wall-People-AnneMarie-Dapp/dp/0996875514/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488571191&sr=8-1&keywords=the+wall+people

 

Author Eric Wilder
"Ghost Of A Chance" 
now only $0.99!
Paranormal Cowboy #1
http://amzn.to/2aTPfy3

 

Pure: Book 1 of an exciting paranormal series!
#fantasy #romance and #urbanfantasy. 
https://www.amazon.com/Pure-Book-ebook/dp/B004XJ7NQI.

 

Stories with Humor, The Impossible, and Love
DISCOVERY AND LOVE...IN GETTIS Available NOW!
http://www.gerribowen.com/

 

Tia Shurina's Journey from half happy to all in happiness, Everything and a Happy Ending!

https://www.amazon.com/Everything-Happy-Ending-Tia-Shurina/dp/0578166038