Ch. 15

I am now squatting in a national forest a few miles outside of the town of Prescott. I have no job, no income, no money. I've been saving-up for a postage stamp for 2 months now. All I need is one more penny.

I eat church food.

On Sunday afternoons, the college drop-outs feed me and other homeless old waifs by the courthouse. These drop-outs call themselves, "Food Not Bombs." Their food is vegetarian & usually very nutritious. I love being around these young folk. This meal is a weekly highlight I tend not to miss.

I spend my time walking ~ walking into & around & back out of town ~ forging & keeping clean. The rest of the time I am reading & writing in the libraries or back at the tent on the mountain with my pine trees & company of lizards & crows, not to mention all the friendly gnats now that it's hot.

In the mornings my rest after walking into town is usually partaken with 3 free cups of hearty hot coffee provided at a little hangout for the homeless folk called Quixote's Garage. This place is strictly maintained & governed by our mother goddess & her princess-like daughter. Some have complained bitterly of her overlordship, but I adore the emasculation that this lean-as-a-flag-pole woman whips-up ~ and am now addicted to the generous portions of coffee & snacks & the comfortable chairs & the opportunity to relax indoors.

Meanwhile, in the extreme & beautiful privacy of my campsite in the patch of woods a few miles outside of town (lot's of walking and up hill, brother!), I've managed to devour tomes & more tomes ~  the history of global capitalism, the history of oil, The Gilded Age by Mark Twain, For Whom The Bell Tolls by Hemingway, an excellent translation of The Egyptian Book of the Dead, The Masked Gods by Frank Waters, Rabble In Arms by Kenneth Roberts, a book on trees, a book on bugs...

Oh yes, and let's not forget, Lonely Planets, by David Grinspoon, subtitled, "The Natural Philosophy of Alien Life" ~ that's a good one, copyright 2003...

the sun
   down ~

the stars
   around ~

And I
   my head ~

The cold
 is my bed!!!

Crickets in
my tent
crickets in
   my hair ~

Daddy Long-Legs
   every where ~

Coyote come up
whips-up a
   half-baked growl ~

Javalina come up
doesn't know
   quite how to howl ~

When I sing
Moonlight Gambler
the crickets
   twang right along ~

They love that
Frankie Lane
   song ~

Mr. Timber Rattler
hasn't yet
   into the tent ~

When he does
I'll be
oh I'll be
   one long lost gent!!!