So from the summer of 2009 until the summer of 2011 I spent the majority of my life homeless, that is without really a steady place to live.
Sure I had socially engineered a complex network of acquaintances who all happened to have very comfortable sofas. But, I still effectively drifted my way throughout the midwest during those years. The bridge in the picture above is a genuine bridge I had a tent underneath for a few months. It also made for some interesting eye candy for those sunny days with nothing to do.
I think my outward appearance was more focused on demonstrating that I had no desire to fit into a single mold, than it had to do with making myself happy.
Living in a world where you can’t be yourself is equally as torturous as it is liberating. I was always known as the care free one. I was very outgoing, and very extraverted. I think this is me during my Velvet Underground homeless phase. One of the more PG ones to be completely honest.
Looking back I now realize that the entire stunt was merely of a reflection of wanting to prove to myself that I could feel something and live without shame or fear.
In a weird way I think I was somewhat attracted to the fear that came with the environment I was intentionally in.
So this is something that I think most people miss about the entire “being a bum” thing.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have a job. I worked plenty.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t smart enough to do something else with my life. I had money, and my credit was fine. (It actually wasn’t until many years later when I transitioned that my credit went to shit).
It wasn’t that I was addicted to some horrible drug that made me waste my life away. I actually spent most of my homeless career sober.
I just genuinely enjoyed the minimalism, the fear, and the adventure.
In retrospective, I met a ton of amazing people and had some seriously crazy adventures. The irony behind the entire series of events is that hands down every person I encountered along the way would have been completely fine with my coming out as transgender.
The only thing standing in my way was my own mental barriers.
I think this really speaks to the fear that was beaten into me my entire life.
Here I am, homeless, dread locks and all, happy as a clam. I had no future, no goals, and no desire to better myself further than practicing Jerry Garcia guitar solos in my spare time. Something I had plenty of.
I obviously wasn’t too concerned with what people thought of me, or looking out of place or ridiculous.
Lo que de veras alegra es que se puede curarlo con ayuda de pastillas como Tadalafil, y la medicina no está excluida para mejorar nuestra vida, pensé que si me pasaba esto era para obtener algo mejor. Evite comer pomelo o beber jugo de toronja mientras está en tratamiento con este medicamento. Con el uso regular de dosis mínimas de Cialis, si usted está buscando dónde comprar Sildenafil sin receta online, permitiendo que la sangre que se libere en la región actúe de un modo eficiente para lograr una erección completa. El rasgo distintivo más principal de la pastilla Kamagra consiste en la restauración de la función erectiva en los hombres para las siguientes 36 horas. El tejido muscular, tales como angulación o fibrosis https://precision-parafarmacia.com/viagra/ cavernosa o en pacientes que puedan tener predisposición a priapismo.
But still, the thought of letting out my little secret was something that shook me to the core. It was easily several magnitudes harder for me to manage than dealing with sleeping under a bridge.
In fact, throughout these liberating years of intentional freedom I was actually able to begin convincing myself sub consciously that my little secret, wasn’t a secret at all. In fact, it was this small disease that I had to conquer. It was weakness, and I had to use my macho manly anger powers to overcome it.
So yes, there was a ritual called “Flying Signs“. This is when you go hold up a cardboard sign at a busy intersection and effectively ask people for handouts. I have a lot of philosophical beef when I see this happening now in the wild. Primarily because the culture behind it is really fucked up.
So let’s get one thing straight, most people who fly signs don’t bring their own sign.
I had a rule that I always made my own sign, because otherwise I felt like I was cheating. I always tried to make fun or funny signs, because I thought if I could at least make someone happy then taking money from them was a little more forgivable.
Seriously, next time you come to a busy intersection and you see someone holding up a sign asking for handouts start looking around on the ground nearby. Chances are that there is a stack of cardboard signs under a rock waiting for someone to come grab them and start begging for handouts.
Seriously, they don’t even try to hide them!
In fact the amount of signs laying around on the ground, has a direct relationship with the amount of money one can expect to get from “working” the intersection. The more signs, the more cash. I used to fly signs for beer.
So my shame had completely gotten up and walked away at this point, I thought I wasn’t afraid of anything.
But there was still that little secret..
I finally came out of this entire event in the winter of 2011. Winters were always very cold. I was offered a job working with my biological father in Denver, Colorado. I packed up a few trash bags of clothes, my guitar, and a huge linux computer I had managed to keep track of over the years.
Then I left…
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