On Homelessness #1

It’s not going to be too long/In fact I do not really know why I still bother doing this/I think this blog has seen its end long ago/It has played out its purpose/But maybe it still has a few inches to go/Consider these little jottings to be the final breaths of a blog that has already remained alive way too long/Just like clothes, people, musical genres and jobs- I think I have out grown the machinations that this blog currently struggles to create/This blog meaning=me.

But today/On a break from work/I was sitting in the sun/I was enjoying the feeling of the afternoon sunlight heating up the bare areas of my arms/And then a homeless man walked past/He didn’t look at me/Probably because I wasn’t smoking/After the contrails of his unshowered scent had left my olfactory awareness, I began wondering/ Are there people who love life so much, who love the experience of being alive so deeply, that they need very little else, if anything, to feel wealthy?

……sorry, just had to go after a fly/I wanted to kill it but I could not bring myself to do it/Now I just need to learn to live with it.

What was I saying?

Oh yeah…

Are there people who are so in love with experience of physical and emotional sensations, that they need very little of anything else to feel fulfilled?///////////Maybe for these individuals all of the things that us “normal” individuals hold to be so important (things like status, money, occupation, money, possessions) are actually transgressions against the free time that they need to relish in the experience of being alive/After all how many of us work at jobs that keep us from experiencing the late morning and afternoon sun?

I don’t know but I want to believe that these individuals exist/That behind the homeless person lives a soul who is in touch with something much deeper, a person who knows something that all of us “normal” folk choose to forget and then maybe remember on the weekends/Who knows.

But man (and woman) can not live on air alone/This man, me, needs more than air/I can appreciate lazy afternoons spent in the sun but I also need good meals, decent looking clothes, a house of my own and enough money to buy the things I need and want (within reason).

Why am I doing this?

Why am I writing things down?

Why am I going to publish this when I feel like its no good?

Because I do not care/It is just writing here/I am just writing/Just turning what is in my mind inside out and sharing it with you because I said I would/I am ready for a slight buzz/Dinner/Maybe a film/Where is the gin?




  1. Good morning, Randall

    It is not a good morning here, but that’s because it is evening; and a good evening it is too. But I think it will be morning for you when you get this, so I will say good morning. Good morning!

    I spent a period of 18 months in “homelessness”, and endlessly crave to return to that lifestyle. Granted, I had a decent sum of savings in the bank; not a fortune, but enough to eat well and keep myself clean and my clothes laundered. Granted also I had my trusty car to sleep in (and a 2 person tent for occasional luxury stays), with which I zigzagged southish along the coastal perimeters of three Australian states, back to Sydney through the guts of two for a job interview, then south again when I didn’t get the job. And granted, finally, it wasn’t real homelessness – more like itineracy without any of the associated discharge of duty attached; the only duty, perhaps, to promise myself not to pop myself off until after the next comfort food stop, and the next one, and so on.

    Eventually the money ran out. Hadn’t been able to get a job anywhere. Came within a bee’s dick of being truly homeless. Drove back to Sydney to collect my first dole check and within an hour of being back had a phonecall with a job offer.

    Now, if it wasn’t for the ridiculous rent prices in Sydney, I could save up some money and do the whole thing over again. I expect I’d be more lucid the next time around, and I can’t think of anything better than having a platform with one or two readers to share the results of my thoughts with.

    Isn’t it just for those one or two readers who like what we write that we write for?

    1. Good morning! Or is it good evening for you? Maybe the day that I am about to experience (if all goes well enough) has already been experienced……(sorry my keyboard just died in mid-thought)….by you. I hope it was a pleasant day you had over there at the end of the world (Australia that is. I traveled there once and I have never endured a longer flight since, but man I loved being there). Thanks for telling me about your once upon a time itinerancy. Sounds delightful. I imagine you had a lot of time to just be, to be free and go where the wind blew you. Must of felt expansive. I do believe (and you would know better than me) that in our more domestic lives there must be a way to incorporate that sense of homeless freedom within whatever we do, within how we live. There must be a way….as long as we can avoid getting too caught up in “the stuff.”

      You know deep down, I know you are right. For years I told myself that this is what matters most- that there is one or two readers who enjoy reading what we write. What more could a writer ask for? Well probably several things…..but you are rigt, this is enough. Thanks for the reality check even though it would be nice if one day my literary toil came along with an economic check. But of course- I aint holding my breath. My best to you out there in the world- thank you for reading what I write. I am grateful.

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