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17 March 2009 @ 11:33 pm
that events are building up in a planned process in anticipation of something greater?

And what I mean by greater, I mean really bad. All the exercises in protest control are not really mean for the protest themselves, they are meant for something bigger in the future. A future when there may not be enough police on payroll to suppress a large crowd, let along one filled with regular non-activisty people. A future where all the lessons of how far the authorities can violate the constitution will be applied. A future when there are millions of discontent people who want fair wages and food on their tables.

A future that is being created right now. Is there a clear pattern yet?
 
 
You're all crazy, every single one of you. You sit there in your cozy little houses with your cold sodas and your facebook pages like it all matters, as if it's even real, but it's not. It's all going to burn, and you will be nothing but bleached skulls. Don't you get it? You're dead, all of you are dead.

Maybe I should.
 
 
03 December 2008 @ 06:10 pm
Legend has it that Train Doc was digging in upstate NY and his shovel hit something hard and metallic. He dug it out and discovered that it was a bundle of tablets made of solid gold, each one hand carved and thousands of years old. He immediately set out to translate the mystical tablets, and we now know that translation as the crew change guide. The Angel Moroni buried them there when a struggle to possess them culminated into the Great Hobo Wars, but being the stupidest of the angels, its location was lost to history for eons due to a bad memory. The plates location are kept secret, as rumors fly of an demonic army of tweakers amassing to take the plates and melt them down in the fiery pits of the scrap yard.
 
 
02 November 2008 @ 09:03 pm
My camp is going to have an upgrade, I'm spying some tents that look right for me, and I've been raiding sections of plywood, too. I already got myself a new knife-throwing post, since my last one got demolished by the weather and a few hundred stabby wounds. I've been working on felling the dead trees around my camp, since when the leaves come off and the wind grows fierce, that's a time when trees like falling down. That and hurricanes. I've been lucky, I messed up a bit with one tree, but I managed to not kill myself somehow. I'd be happy with everything if I could find my jar of moonshine.

In a year or so, I should be leaving it all behind when I move out west, away from the mid-atlantic and that stupid skeleton that the police refuse to remove. It might be to the middle of nowhere, it might be oregon, it's hard to say. I'm trying to tie up all the loose ends while I'm still here, there is a certain old friend that I have to deal with, and it will probably be an interesting story when it happens.
 
 
10 September 2008 @ 09:33 pm
How's nawrlins? I asked a friend, and he just replied that it was breaking his heart.
I should have expected it, after all, he'd been evacuated from the city in the path of a hurricane. I've been forgetting that the traveler's heart is always open, the lust for travel means that there is always room in that rumbling organ for another city- or sometimes just parts of it- to settle in. Maybe this is why traveler kids are so unreliable.
We're fighting our hearts so much in order to stick to our plans, and we don't always win. There's another person in my heart now, and it's so hard to push it away, but we're both trying. I can feel her holding back too, and a part of me wonders why we do it as we watch the stupidity of humanity destroy itself.
 
 
 
14 July 2008 @ 11:33 pm
I peer out from the freight train, knowing I shouldn't have gotten on as soon as I see it make the turn, it's going the wrong way, going to get me in some troubles in a hot yard if I hold on to the ride. Not that I have too much reason to stay, the cubby I'm in is too cramped to relax, and a flat wheel makes the car rumble like giant cymbals. I can find something more comfy and more importantly, something going the right direction. It's just that the train is cruising somewhere between twenty and thirty miles per hour, and I've never tried getting off at that speed. But what the hell, time to abuse the fates, since I know I still have time before I'm supposed to die. The ground falls about two feet from the tracks, still covered in the jagged ballast rocks, which means I should keep my rolling to a minimum because it's going to hurt. I throw my pack out, and float away from the train. It's more a leap of faith than anything. I black out.

I know I'm not terribly bright at times, and I don't know why I feel like doing these things, why I straddle two worlds as if I'm unsure which side will win out, why I both reject and rely on prophecy. I'm just trying to read the possible futures ahead of me, reacting and trying to adapt to them. You have to have faith that you can manage what the world throws at you, else you have to work on that faith by whatever means available. Not that training saves you from anything, it merely gives the fates an excuse to let you slip on by, an optional pass on some worse end. But then, maybe I have some kind of death wish, who knows. Come to think of it, I don't recall ever hearing of someone having successfully jumping off at cruising speed. Maybe they just don't make good stories.

I hear my feet hit the ground more than I feel them after the rush of wind against my body, then I roll twice before I suddenly stop and I find myself looking at my hands on the ground. My hand is bruise central, and a bloom of purple flowers beneath my skin, telling me I broke my thumb. I get my pack and head back. I have to go work on my bike anyway.
 
 
12 March 2008 @ 10:58 pm
"You managed to make a bike?" One of the termite scientists asked me.
"Yup." I had to combine the parts of five different bikes to make it work.
"You're good."
"Check it," I pointed at the axle of the front wheel, "I made a temporary nut."
"What?" He looked closer at it, "that can't possibly work."
A temporary nut is made using a washer and soft iron wire, coiling the wire around the washer like an electromagnet. Copper wire is too soft and too tempting for a tweaker to grab. The number of coiling is important, too much and the nut won't go on- too little and the nut will slip off. This entry in the book of craptabulous repairs goes right next to the temporary tire patch, which is made of glossy paper.
 
 
29 January 2008 @ 05:29 pm
He'd given up on trying to evade the authorities, so he turned himself in, shoeless and cold. The cop in front of him was taken unaware, and drew his weapon in a panic.
"Put your hands on your head and get on your knees!" The cop barked.
He shot a quizzical look at the nervous officer.
"I'll let you arrest me," he said, "but I'm not getting on my knees."
 
 
04 January 2008 @ 03:10 pm
There is something that is worse than waking up to police officers yelling 'wake up!' And that is waking up to police officers screaming 'put your hands up!' They kept screaming it and they started varied it a bit, since they got bored with repeating the same thing over and over again.

I should sleep somewhere more peaceful, I suppose.
 
 
02 January 2008 @ 06:20 pm
On this creaking old tower, it looks like I am up on high over the tracks, but since this is new orleans, it means I am a little over sea level.

Above the lights is the best place to hide, people get blinded if they cast their eyes to you, but there isn't so much to do.

I did disassemble blinky lights and reassemble them so that one blinks twice as fast and theoretically gives off twice as much light! Or maybe it annoys you twice as much, perhaps both.