Three weeks straight on the street, no sweat.

Here was dinner tonight: a standard beef burger. I’ve been telling them ‘no chips’ since once I’ve eaten the chips I can never finish the burger.

Three weeks ago today I became completely without a roof over my head and started sleeping on the street.

Up until now, this living on the street thing has only really sucked when I’ve run out of money which naturally means running out of everything else. 

Sleeping on a slab of concrete with just sky above you might sound bad, but since purchasing the sleeping bag I’ve had double the padding under me and have been warm as toast every night.

Too warm the past two nights, I’ve had to open it.

Compared to this time a week ago when the cold nights had started I’d only manage to get sleep when it was warm enough and be forced to lay awake freezing when it wasn’t: especially with that fuckin wind going all night.

Now I’m so comfortable at night I don’t want to get up when my alarm goes off: I even slept-in until 5:30am two nights ago, and I’ve been getting about 6.5 hours sleep a night on average so sleeping outside isn’t a problem for me at all.

What to do all day was baffling to begin with, but I’m forced to be more social now I’m in town all day surrounded by people – opposed to locking myself away in a room with a television like I’d do given half a chance.

Locals I’ve never even talked to previously know my name now, though people I’ve no recollection of meeting ask me how I’m going like they know me, which they don’t, and I tell them that fast enough.

People don’t kinda remember faces: you either do or you don’t recognise them.

I can point-put every local I’ve seen in the past three years when I see them even though I’ve never spoken to most of them at all: I know I recognise them just walking around town.

Along with knowing the face comes knowing I’ve never talked to them, usually because I’ve already judged them not worth talking to based on gender, appearance, personality or behavior. 

There’s no ambiguity involved: you instantly transpose the face, whether you like or dislike the person and how familiar you are with them simultaeneously as an emotion or lack thereof.

I sure as fuck never find myself unsure about whether I know them at all or not, and I always know when it’s someone I’ve never spoken to because I usually don’t like them or view them as moving wallpaper.

That old lady librarian with the grey hair and doped-out eyes, for example, is moving wallpaper, while the thin gothy one who wears the little skirts is one of those people you cannot resist noticing.

People claiming they “think” they “might” know me from somewhere are full of shit and I can cut them short because they *don’t* know me and have no reason to get chummy with someone they don’t fucking know: shove a big red flag on them for engaging you because they are either insane or want to scam something.

I’m getting distracted: the homeless outside-sleeping shit, yes..

All this relatively civilized street living will change this Tuesday morning when I’ll be finished cleaning tafe and won’t have access to their showers, washing machines or dryers.

I’ll also have nowhere to store anything and have to move everything important before Tuesday somehow: that’s about the only thing really nagging at me at the moment, since I didn’t pack according to value, just threw everything I could into anything I could find it would fit in.

Mmm.

The sunburn is gone, the skin doesn’t peel anymore and that maple-syrup brown…GOODNESS, I LIKE it.

 

I need more sun this weekend actually.

The sweetest fruit..

Wild Blackberries: I mean how can I *not* eat them; they run right down the sides of the roads here and so many ripe ones!

Every year about this time, the local council spray poison all down the streets to – they say – kill-off or keep the noxious weed under control.

Also about this time each year, the blackberries go to fruit and are fat, juicy and so sweet, I cannot stop myself eating the fucking things. I should write a letter to the council – maybe on behalf of the dumb, oblivious sheep – telling them to stop spraying: have they killed a single blackberry at all, ever? I’m sure they kill heaps by tearing them out with mulchers, hedge-trimmers and ripping them out by hand and with bobcats, but I’ve yet to see a single blackberry vine that even looks brown from poison – let alone unhealthy in the slightest: the plants are a deep emerald green all over so what are they accomplishing by spraying half the town with deadly chemicals every year?

My argument would be that if they didn’t get poisoned, people would eat them and shit most of the vines annual seed-load down the S-bend. Sure birds and other animals would shit a few seeds around the place, but they won’t demolish the fruit like humans will and any seeds that germinate in bird shit will take years to get to a size where they’re enough to worry about, hell: they likely aren’t even capable of producing fruit for the first few years it takes the young plants to mature, while the largest blackberry vines would be stripped bare of fruit, stepped on, snapped, all the damage of a town full or tourists picking at them day in and out. But then again, they are very thorny.

Whatever, I want to eat them without feeling sick for 24-36 hours afterwards.

I tried the blackberries in the supermarket of course. ..once. $6 for a tiny punnet with a few unripe, dry, acidic berries: they’re not at all worth eating, let alone paying a premium for.

The blackberries that grow wild around here, on the other hand, are delicious.

Soft and extremely sweet with no acidic taste at all, all you have to do is touch some of them and juice pops all over your hand, I’ll tell myself “don’t“, but decide to have one or two… Before I know it I’ve worked my way through a 20 meter long stretch of roadside eating every berry I can reach – even if I have to get up and climb INTO the bushes to get at them.

It’s like a compulsive disorder, but they’re practically organic, fresh, perfectly ripe berries and I love ’em.

The other day I managed to eat about half a bucket’s worth of the suckers in around half an hour of picking and everything seemed fine until what, the next morning about an hour after I started work and felt that first stab in my stomach.

Soon as I felt it I recognized the pain and knew it would only keep going – which it did – and become progressively more painful throughout the day – which it sure as fuck did.

By the end of the day the cramps were bad enough to make me break-out in sweat all over: what makes them worse, is they don’t just hurt for a second or two – I’ll have non-stop agony for an hour solid until it subsides again for a short period then comes again and there’s nothing I can do to ease it at all: It starts bad and gets slowly more painful over that hour until it’s fuckin unbearable, then it goes again.

If coucil just stopped spraying that shit all over everything …you’d think all the pretentious, organic vegan wankers living around town would object simply to the fact their government sprays gallons of dangerous poison up and down every street with blackberry vines: the fucking things grow predominantly around the top end of town, and all that poison is being washed downhill into the eco-tourists yards, into their gardens, into their soil, into the food they grow, yet they’re too busy wasting time recycling plastic that’s only going to be disgarded once it’s “processed” in favor of the gigatonnes of cheaper, brand-new plastic created every year anyway.

Plastic is a waste bi-product of the petroleum distillation process – here’s every halfwitt in the world fiddling with bins of different colours (pretending to make a difference). If you really want less plastic *start* by not driving your arse everywhere you have to go because that’s where 90% of the fucking bottles at the supermarket come from. Think Coca-Cola Amitil are going to pay a premum for a short-supply of second-hand plastic when the brand-new shit is piling up daily and a fraction of the price?

Like I needed any further evidence of the stupidity of brainless people just going-along with the rest.

I should add a <rant></rant> tag to my style sheet and format the text red on a dark red background or something, then you can simply scroll past the offending material if you’re sick of hearing about how I think stupid, boring, unorginal people suck as much as pretentious ones.

Matter of fact, I was just thinking ** fuck I’ve got the shits today; Why?; I’ve got drugs, smokes, food, power in my batteries, I’ve got food and three different drinks plus a bottle of *cough* “hand-crafted” blackcurrant cordial (which I chose over ribena because it’s 48% fruit juice compared to ribenas low-grade 22% or some crap and has more Vitamin C), ** I’ve got a warm sleeping-bag and I’m currently dry and out of the thunderstorm and rain that looks to be easing-up now anyway **

Then I remember! RIIIIGHT, that whole “on-the-street-homeless’ thing; I’ve fucked-off the job, have nowhere to live and – with two days left until I finish working at Katoomba TAFE – I’ve got all my stuff there and not a fucking idea where I’m meant to move any of it to, so most of it will end up in the bin.

That should explain the bad mood, right? But I dunno: the fact I had to actually remember all that was going on – as I’m writing an entry about it, mind you – shows I’m not exactly going mental with stress over another one of lifes’ little technical glitches.

I’ll finish this later. 

The lizard 

Closing your eyes WILL NOT make me go away,.

Yeah there he is and he’s just some poor skink who happened to run-up a wall in front of me and walk along the top as Iwas there waiting for my burger to be cooked.

I’d forget how much easier they are..

550-grade stainless steel, with bowl the bowl and catcher below to collect resin glands that are small enough to sift through the mesh. It even has a little plastic scraper to scrape and scoop with.

I have owned one of these little grinders previously, but that one had a plastic body and cheap cast-iron teeth that were kinda V shaped. The teeth constantly had a build-up of resin on them which – you’d think – would be a good thing, but you couldn’t get the shit even to clean it and the plastic body split one day while I tried to force it to twist an extra chunky bud.

This new one is made of surgical-grade stainless steel entirely, and has teeth that’re harder and fall perfectly vertical so they don’t squeeze the “material” up the top to get wedged or stuck between teeth.

*…

The Rebuildable Dripping Atomizer.

The first vaporizer I bought was a 50W Sub-Ohm kit with a proprietary coil that’s not meant to be disassembled and doesn’t go back together very well when you’ve only been using the thing a week, have no idea there are ‘rules’ if you want any coil to vaporize efficiently but decide you’ll pull the thing apart and ‘fix’ it yourself anyway because you want new cotton for a new juice.

Little did I know, the battery on that kit pumped a constant 40W of power into the coil, which is a fair amount of electricity to be snappiing into a coil that hasn’t been re-round quite as accurately as the factory workers managed before you bought it.

All you get with an RDA is a build deck with three posts in the base: you build and replace the coil and cotton yourself.

There’s only a shallow ‘well’ in the bottom that holds a half dozen decent puffs before you’ve gotta re-wet the cotton again. 

Sounds like a pain in the arse, because it kind’ve is, but the vapor is twice as thick with twice the flavour and throat hit so you’re not sucking vapor that’s diluted with air. It’s much better but for the constant re-dripping you have to do. 

Just a large battery and a bit of wire for an element.

*…

At the library this morning we made this new design; with the cotton wicking wrapped around the outside of the coil..

At the library this morning I tried out a new coil design; with the cotton wicking wrapped around the outside of the coll to allow air an open tunnel in the middle to flow through. Worked well actually, that coil, so I’ll make it again once I’ve ordered more cotton.

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