Tijuana Diary: Fabricated Poverty

So this was it. We were homeless now, crouched low in the overgrowth behind a university gym. To us, home. Smoking cigarettes, our hands placed over our sleeping bags and blowing twisted smoke rings at the branch canopy above us.

"This is the taste of freedom," Levi was saying. "The best cigarettes are the ones under a night sky."

"Isn't this kind of patronizing, condescending, you know?" I puffed, cringing, paranoid of every sound. "Like, we're homeless, but we're only tourists. We can escape this whole thing tomorrow if we wanted."

"What do you mean?"

"We chose this. We had a bed for the night and we chose this. Urban camping. But is it belittling to those who can't choose it?"

"Even if this experience is fabricated, it still means something," Levi said.

Day Thirty Se7en: Happiness is Arrogance

I am sleeping in the cabin again. The tenants my grandparents had left because of all the rain, but they still paid in full. Once again, I have an entire house to myself.

I was kind of enjoying the rain. When I wasn't ignoring it.

Today, my cousin Josh found a bow and arrow set in the basement. When I came home from work, we shot it at this dead tree my grandfather turned into a giant birdfeeder. I want to kill animals and grandpa says it's fine to shoot raccoons or cats, but not chipmunks or squirrels. Oh well. . .

So tomorrow I have a meeting with the Citizen to arrange a schedule. Fuckin' finally.

Next week I will be in Virginia for a wedding for some relatives I've never heard of. It will be just me and my cousins - no adults. It's a roadtrip except by plane. I'm pretty damn excited. I hope it is as cool as the wedding my friend Kyle attended. It was quite lavish. Some dude rolled cigars right in front of you and there was a bar that didn't ID. I want that. I also want to take some really cool pictures of family members I couldn't care less about. Except my 2nd cousin Becky. She is awesome, from what I remember.

Speaking of Kyle, he is in Washington D.C. I told him to spit on all the monuments for me. So he did. What a pal.

I hope that offends you. Those statues don't mean freedom to anyone. In fact, what Kyle did was a much better example of freedom than a swimming pool for FDR or Lincoln staring down from his throne. In fact, all those monuments vaguely represent Greek architecture, which is very pagan. What I'm saying, is there if you think it's wrong to hawk lougies on rocks, you hold them sacred. You mine as well worship them.

Anyway, things for me are going pretty good. How nice.

Nauseated not Nauseous

Current mood: I am Jack's Butterfinger Freedom

I'm running out of notebook space. I have all these notebooks filled with notes and creepy sketches and things about nothings. I have no idea what to do with half the scribbles in these things. Today, two of my journals were filled at once.
I need new ones. I'll get them tomorrow. If I'm not too busy at an art show or stressing about nothing.

I went to a vending machine today and got two butterfingers for the price of one. I loved that. It made me relax and breathe in and say, "Something, somewhere, is good". It was like stealing, that same thrill, but without any way of being caught or returning the product if you so inclined.

I'm learning the same thing in two different grammar classes. It's really annoyed me that I spend my evening learning one thing, to go home and study it again. And no, it doesn't make it easier.

This blog was something experimental that I forget now.