Four Days Ago Until Two Days Ago...

Into Friday
Friday, I decided to do my own thing and to avoid Tanya and Dorise altogether.

"You wouldn't care so much about what people think of you if you knew how little they think of you" -Jesse (grizzled guy)

Earn Up To $6, Making Music!

In the wake of the Labor Day Weekend, here it is Wednesday.

Some Kind Of Christian Group

Last night "ended" with Thomas and I, in the park (but it could have been by the ocean,) listening to some kind of group of young Christians, who were singing hymns, to the accompaniment of one of them, who played a Taylor guitar. Taylor guitars sell for at least a thousand dollars.

I initially thought that they were singing: "God we thank you for our parent's houses, the cars we've gotten as graduation gifts, and the fact that our only responsibility is the handling of a few college courses, and the fact that we can spend all the money that we make at our part-time jobs on Taylor guitars." (Isn't that how "Kumbaya" translates?)

Thomas and I sat on a nearby bench, sipping Budweiser Ice, and smoking Pall Mall cigarettes, while we listened.

To the credit of those youths, they shunned us not, nor looked at us askance, neither did they eschew us, and they were apparently not taken aback at our openly displayed sins of the flesh, perhaps believing the scripture which, paraphrased, states that it is not what goes into a man's mouth which causes him to be unclean, but rather, what comes out of a man's mouth. They gave us each a couple of sandwiches and some spring water, to put into our mouths.

We ultimately got buzzed enough off the beer to forsake not the gathering with them in a circle, where hands were held, and out of their mouths came prayers and supplications.

I bowed my head, and contemplated whether or not the young woman holding my left hand with her soft right hand, thought that I smelled homeless.

Thomas had my right hand, and "held his own," as the circle began producing a cacophony of simultaneously uttered prayers, which rose in volume and could probably have been heard all the way at the beer store.

Each individual voice was lost in the blend, and I could only pick out an occasional word, like "Jesus" or "Lord" from out of the fray.

I had never been in such a "church" before.

Thomas may have been, for, he was "right there" with the rest, adding to the decibels. I could only tell this because he was standing a foot away, and I could distinguish his voice in the din.

I was eventually moved to mutter something like "Lord, don't let the pretty girl next to me smell my armpits, please..." because I wanted to participate somehow, and nobody could hear me anyways...

Some Kind Of Water Testing?

Before being drawn there, by the sound of the Taylor, I had been on my playing spot, using the strings which aren't quite right, due to having been unduly stretched and un-stretched, as they were transplanted to three different guitars.

There were people walking by.

Most of them, though, were employees of a place near my spot. They seem to work around the clock. They do some kind of water testing, and are probably funded by BP, in order to do tests, and report upon the condition of the water in Mobile Bay. They may be getting kickbacks for saying that the water is fine, go ahead and eat the blue crabs, who knows.

They never tip me a cent. They pass by me constantly, carrying coolers full of what are popularly believed to be water samples from out there in the bay.

Sometimes, I try to penetrate their obliviousness towards me, by purposely including provokative lyrics in my songs.

I have succeeded on occasion. The one verse I sang about "kickbacks from BP," had a few of their ears perked...

Some Kind Of Unwritten Code?

The rest of the pedestrians were the bums from the park, who were on their missions of picking ashtrays, or trying to catch restaurant employees as they stepped out a back door for a cigarette, and beg food of them.

A homeless guy, who re-enters the park, carrying such a white-Styrofoam-contained prize, becomes the immediate center of attention, and is converged upon by the others, who, assuming that the food was gotten freely, think that the person with the food has no right to claim all of it for himself. Some kind of unwritten code of karma-based honor mandates that he share with everyone. I wonder why they go back to the park with it, unless it is a status symbol to them.

Some Kind Of Cheap Bastard ?

My tip hat is fodder for a debate in which this karma based issue is the center of the discussion. There are those who feel that everything in my hat was freely given, and is therefore subject to being divided up amongst the poor and unfortunate; those too poor to buy their next beer, and who "unfortunate"ly never spent hours practicing on an instrument, and are thus unable to partake of this bounty, which rains down freely upon me, as if heaven-sent.

This should spawn in me a desire to gather with them all in the spirit of generosity, which I have been imbued with by The Wealthy, and share; share!; -unless I'm some kind of cheap bastard.

I should at least be able to part with a dollar (for each one of them,) as a token of gratitude, is the summation of their argument.

The Other School Of Thought

A few, of the other school of thought, on "the other hand," have told me: "You play your butt off for that money; tell them all to go to hell!"

Give Pack Back, Get Pack Back

I woke up with $0.00 this morning.
It has been 16 hours since my last beer.

Yesterday, the experiment in sobriety ended at the 40th hour. I left the library, after blogging and facebooking for about 3 hours. I still had the $2.59. It was raining, and I had just realised that, in focusing upon blogging, I had gone past the time when one must pick up one's baggage from out of 15 Place. "Any bag left past 4pm. will be donated to Goodwill," is what the sign on the door states. I was wondering how serious they were about enforcing that rule.

I started to think about all that I have in my backpack: birth certificate, ID, all of my hygiene stuff, etc. There were even extra shirts in there, I thought, as I noticed that the rain was ushering in cooler air. It has been cold some mornings, getting down to 70 degrees, and I have woken up and thrown on an extra shirt, on a few occasions. I was worried, too about the things in the bag that weren't coming to mind, which might be important at some future juncture. (It was the mosquito repellent, which fit this "I know I'm forgetting something" category. (More on that later, under the heading "I Am Eaten Alive")

I kind of went to the store and bought a beer, and then tried to buy a cigarette off someone for a quarter. I am wondering if I am keeping myself broke to protect myself from myself. There was a panhandler out front, who wanted a quarter.

I drank a couple more, which left me exactly no money. I actually had to borrow 5 cents off of the guy who wanted the quarter, in exchange for giving him a sip off of the third beer. I told myself that I was loosening up for my performance at Serda's Coffee, and that I felt better to be rid of the money, because it was "burning a hole in my pocket," and tempting me to get beer. The temptation was gone. I went to Serda's Coffee.

Upon arriving at Serda's, I noticed a pack of American Spirit cigarettes, unattended and laying on a ledge under one of the front windows. It looked abandoned to me. These are the same kind which the kind man gave me, along with the sandwich, after I had earlier chosen to come this way, instead of the beer store way. The pack was almost full. I took it, while trying to see out of the corners of my eyes, if there was any movement which might indicate someone noticing me picking them up, perhaps the owner. I didn't hear anyone say "Hey, those are mine." It could have been an empty box. I went around the corner to smoke one and hid the pack under a trash can, while asking myself "Why am I hiding them if I don't feel guilty about taking them?"

Once inside, the MC greeted me warmly and told me the spot that I would be occupying on "the list." I was to have others play after me. "Good," I said. "That way, there will still be an audience here!"

As I was stepping out for an American Spirit, between performers, the MC made the announcement "If anyone found a pack of American Spirit cigarettes, they're mine!"

I went and got the things and brought them to him, saying "They looked abandoned; I watched them for a minute and nobody seemed to belong to them..." He seemed very happy to have his American Spirit cigarettes back. They're expensive.

I played a self-satisfying set of songs, mixed in some comedy, and, apart from a few young girls, who were only there to videotape their boyfriends playing, so they can twitter and myspace and utube with their expensive toys, and who payed little attention to me, the audience liked it. I even had a request for The Carcass Song from the MC, who had just finished an American Spirit cigarette.

I think that the one American Spirit from the guy with the sandwich was of God, because I had made a good decision. I think the 15 American Spirits in the box were of the devil (he would offer more,) and a test to see if I was so pathetically addicted to tobacco that I would steal from the very MC who was giving me a chance to put my songs out in front of people. I felt better on some deeper level, than if I had had the "comfort" of knowing that I would lay down with American Spirits on me. Doing the right thing is more satisfying than a cigarette...barely....

Even Cigarette Man (shown here in Jacksonville) would agree.

"...You got a cigarette? You need a cigarette? Here you go, here's a
cigarette. You don't have to pay me back..." -Cigarette Man Emanuel (The Cigarette Savior, The Tobacco Messiah)

I went to my "abandoned factory" spot and layed down. It was past midnight.
I hadn't been there 15 minutes when, The Black Man With The Fishing Pole, and his friend, Martin, were on the scene.
I told them that there weren't many dry spots, and directed them to one which I had found, further down, but had moved away from, because of being eaten alive by some kind of insects. They didn't seem concerned about insects. Black people may have thicker skin than us Caucasians.
They gave me a cigarette.
Later, they entrusting me to guard their bags and the fishing pole, while they went to the store. Upon returning, they gave me 3 beers. I soon had my guitar out and was practising. They found this amusing, and commented "Now that you had some beer, you feelin' it, huh?"
I woke up right on time to make it to The Coffee Club. The breakfast has been served all week by a youth group from a church somewhere in South Carolina. Yesterday morning, one of the girls (the one giving out the bread) told me that she would be praying for me, after I had told her that I had gone 36 hours without a beer. This morning, she said "Good morning, Daniel."
She had remembered my name.
After I was done eating, her and a couple more came over to my table, once I was by myself, and asked me if I was "still sober." I had to break the bad news, blaming it on worrying about my bag at 15 Place, which may have been thrown out with my "whole world" in it. One guy took out his cell phone and called 15 Place, on behalf of "Guitar Man," and asked them to hold the bag for me. I walked briskly over there and got it.

Having the backpack back was a relief, yet, it came with a price.
Mr. McDonald, who had become aware of the situation, asked me why I was there. I think he already knew why I was there. He was also aware that my temporary membership had elapsed, and told me that I could now only go there to eat at noon; no more keeping my bag there.
Now, when I come to the library, I have to hide the thing outside before going in.
A Trolley Driver Gives Me 5 Dollars
Just outside the library, as I was crossing the street to get here today, one of the trolley buses stopped in front of me. The door opened to reveal the driver, holding out a five dollar bill towards me. "Here, get yourself a beer," he said, handing it to me. Now I have 5 dollars. A beer would taste good.

Porsha Gives Me A New Guitar Case
A few days ago, the zipper on my guitar bag broke. I had been carrying it with shirts tied around it to keep it closed. Just a minute ago, Porsha, the ambulance worker, came and tapped my shoulder, as I was sitting here, and handed me a new guitar bag. It's tan with green trim.
I now go to call The Mobile Bay Adventure Inn to see if they want me to play this weekend. They are having a big convention for Jehovah's Witnesses. They are not sure if Jehovah's Witnesses like acoustic guitar music. Then I may go for a coffee. I do have 5 dollars.

I Hate It But I Always Do It

50 Bucks

Saturday night, I started playing early and racked up around 50 bucks. I had a 20 dollar bill and a 5 dollar bill in my case. Apart from these two, it would have been a typical, low paying, Mobile Saturday and I would have made less than 30 bucks. This boon gave me enough to plan upon going for my ID the following Monday. I would just have to survive Sunday without spending too much, or getting begged or robbed too much.

We Don't Carry Cash

There was a bum, well known to me, standing nearby at one point when I was playing, and a group of Christians came by and asked me to play "Amazing Grace."

I sounded out Amazing Grace to mine and their satisfaction, and they then prayed over me. One of them, I think, is the one who dropped the 20 dollars in my case.

I had been telling them about how I had had enough money for my ID, exactly, the previous day, but, getting the ID would have meant not spending a cent on anything else, and I had failed to do that.

They gave me a sermon about how God had given me just what I needed, but the devil had triumphed over me when I bought a pack of smokes and a couple beers. I was just being honest with them and answering their questions.

They prayed that I would make the 23 bucks that night and get my ID and get a job and do God's will. (God didn't intend for His children to be on the street playing guitar) All this happened while the bum stood 5 feet away, listening and watching as more than one of them threw money in my case, and someone gave me some pizza. As the group were leaving, the bum said something to them. I couldn't hear what it was that he said, but I heard one of the Christians say. "We don't carry cash with us" to him.

A Breakfast Fit For Nero

The next morning, the bum was at breakfast at 15 Place. He was telling everyone who cared to listen about how much money "Guitar Man" had made the previous night. "Yeah, he was raking it in...he must have made at least 50 bucks; AT LEAST!"

I can't imagine what service he thought he was doing me; did he think every bum was going to be proud of me, and respect me?

Then, the bums of 15 Place, taking the cue, started The Barrage. "Hey, Guitar Man, let me get a smoke..." "Yeah, Guitar Man; break bread!" They can sound so biblical sometimes. Jesus would give us a cigarette...

I didn't give them anything. I told the loudmouth bum that, what I made was none of his business; though, it is everyone who walks by me and stares into my tip jar's "business," and that's a part of my business which I can't avoid. He accused me of "hustling" Christians, saying that I had manipulated them, and mentioned needing 23 dollars as a manner of begging. He asked me how I felt in my heart to have hustled Christians. Then, the knowledgeable historian referred to me as "Nero."

Up with the sun this morning. I still had some Vault energy drink in my bottle, despite having drank most of it in the middle of the night. This lead to a bizarre dream, in which my guitar strings were tuned WAY too high, causing the neck to bend. I retuned them in my dream, and then, I was suddenly making out with Anna Kournikova. Dreams don't always make sense; even though this one did perfectly (she tunes her racket.)

I walked to the main bus station and got on the right bus to go out to the Division of Licenses.

Upon getting there, I was told that, in addition to my birth certificate and my Social Security card, I needed a "third" form of something. I handed the official my expired ID. She told me that it had expired too long ago. She gave me a list of other acceptable documents. I told her that I had none of them. She told me that I couldn't get ID. I then said: "So, I can''t work?"

"No," she said.

I was ready to go off and make a huge scene. I was going to drop every expletive that I could think of, accuse them of trying to keep the homeless down, so that they (them) could divide the "pie" amongst themselves. I was going to call the President a piece of s*** and ask her how she would feel to have HER right to the "pursuit of happiness" sidetracked by a pencil pushing bureaucrat, who acts complacent and uncaring, to make matters worse.

I was pissed.

Then, I remembered the Record of Adoption paper, which my mom had mailed me. It was being used as a bookmark in a book that I am reading about Joseph Smith (the founder of the Mormon religion.)

I Adopt A New Strategy

I gave it to the official, who had just barely escaped being cussed out, and she was mesmerised by the gold seal upon it. She let me through. I pity all the guys who will never again hold a job because they don't have the right documents and have no way of obtaining the right documents, without the right documents. They will panhandle and pick ashtrays all of their days, or become outlaws, and I have a new found sympathy for them, (except for the one's who aren't trying.)

When the official had told me that, "no," I can't work, she said it with no emotion at all. People walk into places like that with automatic weapons and it's becoming less and less"shocking" and closer to being understandable. They are telling able bodied men that they can't go out and make a living for themselves by the sweat of their brows, because their ID expired more than 90 days ago...pathetic...

I Got The Thing

I paid the $23.50, out of the money which I made on Saturday night, this leaving me $4.75, an amount that I am getting used to being down to, and had my picture taken.

It was hard to smile for the photo, as I had originally planned upon doing, after what I had gone through. I had wanted to outdo Karrie with my photo. Karrie sports a big smile on her ID because, as she put it "I was happy to get my ID." Liquor stores occasionally card her, you see.

The ID will be mailed to 15 Place within 30 days. This is another layer of insulation for them against someone using a non existent address, or one where they don't actually live. Now, I must hope that 15 place extends my temporary membership until such a time that the thing arrives there.

The Garage

Tonight is open mic night at The Garage. I have not done my homework. I procrastinated upon learning the new material which I wanted to introduce tonight. I still have a couple hours, and seem to enjoy putting myself under the pressure of going on stage not sure of myself. I hate it, but I always do it.

Grabbers (or How Does That Grab You?)

I am ducking and dodging The Law. I'm in St. Augustine, where my life is "worthless."
"My love is strong, and it pushes me onward"
I came back to grab whatever wasn't grabbed, when Karrie and I left here.
I discovered that everything which we hadn't grabbed HAD been grabbed (by someone.)
This is "par for the course" in St. Augustine.
I'm leaving on the last yellow bus out of town, -don't know when I'll be back again-
"I Don't Know What To Tell You"
I saw Larry briefly, last night, while keeping an "eye out," for the bike cops.
I told him I needed a place to lay my head, and maybe a blanket; I had missed the last yellow bus out...
"I don't know what to tell you, we've been staying at Dee Dee's for the past couple of weeks..."
I know what you can tell me, Larry; you can tell me: "I remember that night when we were staying off of the canal in Mandarin and I was curled up and shivering on the ground under a flimsey blanket, and you came and threw one of your two sleeping bags over me, whereupon I relaxed into a comfortable sleep." You might have said something along those lines...
This was God's way of telling me "See, there's nothing here for you in St. Augustine," for those of you who believe in Him.

Photos Arrive

The Ocala pictures arrived from the Lidgeley's.

More on them, and more of them, later...

All Shook Up

Plus, more on John's Wedding, which he decided NOT to have performed by an Elvis impersonator, even though he "thought about it." He thought about it??? He's joking, isn't he??

Elvis: "Do you John, promise to not be cruel, and to love Ester "tender?"

John: "I do"

Elvis: "Ester, if John is in sickness, or poorer, or the Kentucky rain is pouring down; Is that alright, Mama?"

Ester: "It is."

Elvis: "John, are you a hunk of burnin' love for Ester?"

John: "I am."

Elvis "Will you be Ester's teddy bear?"

John: "I will."

Elvis: "Then, by the power invested in me, as the King of Rock -n- Roll I now pronounce you all hooked up! (hey, hey hey!)

Fourteen Dollars And One Cent

Karrie has been shipped to the St. John's County jail. It occurred at 10:18 yesterday morning, according to the website. I left the library and walked to the UPS store and bought a stamped envelope. I also got a money order for $14.01 and wrote her a 3 page letter and then went to the nearest mailbox and dropped it in, before something really bad happened to it. Such is the feeling, here in Ocala. I feel like I am the subject of a manhunt, and, at any time the police could jump out and yell "Freeze!"
A man who I spoke with, told me that the Marion County cops are known far and wide to be the worst in the state. "They'll arrest you for standing there, doing nothing." I wasn't exactly reassured.
After I mailed the money to Karrie, promising more if I ever got more, I walked to the store, and bought some tomato soup, corn chips, and a "hard" lemonade. They were out of Earthquake High Gravity Lager (I guess they hadn't factored my arrival into their order for this week.)
I returned to the spot where the Lord had shown me Thursday night. I had gotten to a point then, where the second round of thunderheads were about to overtake me, and I started to utter a prayer, something like: "Lord, you've never let me down before; you might not have given me everything I thought that I wanted, but you've...etc"
I hadn't even gotten past the "Lord" part, when, I looked and saw a building that was empty and for lease (like half of Florida,) Behind it was another which had a huge overhanging roof. I think it used to be for horses. I had found a piece of particle board which was just about my height and had exercised Option 3. and slept pretty well, especially as the rain started to pelt the roof, telling me that I had made the right decision, and that there would probably be no thugs out roaming the streets, looking for white boys.
My First Encounter With The Ocala Police
I returned to the same spot last night.
I had just about drifted off to sleep when the flashlights of the cops were on me. I thought about how the man had told me that they would arrest you for "just standing there," and I was glad that I was laying down.
They were apparently there because someone had broken a window and was sleeping INSIDE the place (as if the horse corral with the nice roof out back wasn't good enough! Some homeless people make me sick!)
I think they used "common" sense and figured that if I was the one who had broken the window in order to get inside, then why was I sleeping in the horse area. They train them upon things like that.
They trespassed me from the place and then let me go. I will sleep in the horse corral no more, under punishment of imprisonment.
I went back to the spot in the woods where I had gotten soaked, and slept adequately and didn't get soaked. My tenure in the horse corral was oh, so short, I thought.
My Second Encounter With The Ocala Police
I woke up in the spot where I had gotten soaked, dry, and being pestered by some birds, who seemed to think that they were there first. It is going to cost me some bread to stay there in peace any longer.
I thought about things, and prepared to go out onto the ramp to try to make back some of the money that I have spent.
I went to the Kangaroo and got an energy drink and then struck up a conversation with a guy, who has lived in Ocala for a while and knew "everybody." He wanted to hear me play the guitar and said that the cashier was "cool" and wouldn't mind me sitting and playing for tips.
I took out the guitar, tuned it and began to play. A cop pulled up and sat there. I had just started to play, and so, I didn't think that he had been called.
A man came and threw 5 bucks in my case, as I played "Eyes Of The World," by the Grateful Dead.
The cop walked over and said that he needed to see my ID, told me that there was an ordinance in Ocala against what I was doing. He searched me and my new acquaintance, who knew everybody. If asked why I thought this was necessary, I would say "Search Me." After he determined that I had no knives, no needles, no drugs nor anything else that he "should know about," he then told me that it was alright if I played "in the county," but not in the city. He told me where "the city" ended and where"the county" began (two miles down Silver Springs Rd. and past the Wal-Mart.) He didn't take me to jail because I was new in town and not necessarily expected to know the ordinance. Plus, I wasn't standing.
Now, I leave the library. It is Saturday evening. I will walk the two miles to where the city ends and the county begins. I will ask the guy or girl in the Circle K if it as alright if I sit and play in front of the store. If yes, I could make 50 to 75 bucks. If no, I will walk the two miles back to the spot in the woods where I got soaked and tell the birds "Shut up, I'm not in the mood!" Then I will sleep and wait for the Lidgleys to come on Thursday and ask them for a ride back to Jacksonville. I will have had enough.

It Has Been A Blessed 4 Days

Since I have had access to this computer. To the left is a picture of a Christmas tree, which is the closest to the way ours looked, when I was growing up as a child, which I could find in a quick "Google," of "Christmas tree." Note that we would have NEVER placed the tree in front of some wall with whatever that is hanging there; we put ours right in the "picture" window in the "living room." (we went there to live.)

I Make Good Money Playing For A Surprisingly Large Group Of Tourists

There were tourists swamping the place on Christmas Eve. I sat and played and had a good night, entertaining myself immensly. I had learned one Christmas Song, and played it repeatedly. It was "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas."

I Never considered this a great carol, but on the guitar, it lent itself to just the kind of 'recognizability' that about 55 bucks found their ways into my case, or, if given by those young and spry enough to bend down, pick up the beanbag monkey and place the money under it; under the monkey.

The next night was a blessing, also. Eustus, the steel drum player had fenagled his way into playing right on St. George street, which is normally forbidden by local ordinances. (There is a loophole in the ordinace, whereby a business owner could allow you to play right on his/her private property. This is not the norm because the business owners "stuck together" on the decision to outlaw street musicians on St. George street, and, for an owner to allow one would be to be taking an unpopular stance. Nevertheless, one did, and there was Eustus banging on his steel drum (and making the composers of Christmas carols roll in their graves.)

Eustus was splitting his money with a drummer, and I believe I did just as well as he, playing his other-favorite-spot, and not splitting tips with a drummer. Lot's of money.

There was rainfall on a couple of days, through the holiday, which kind of started on Thursday, with this library closing early, and extended untill today, when the library is now open. On Christmas Day, I called my mother to wish her and all, a happy holiday. (Sometimes a holiday is teetering between happy and sad, and all it needs is a little push to turn it "happy.")

Karrie and I were sitting outside the laundromat while rain fell, trapping us there. I know we would not have been trapped if we had procured simple raingear, but, it doesn't seem to be our style to be thinking about the future. We live in the moment. If it is not raining, then why buy ponchos....makes no sense...

100 Bucks

It was Christmas Day and we were sitting right aside the payphones, and near the laundromat with its change machines. I had about 20 bucks. (I'm within 1/743,375,481,602th of Bill Gates now) and so I got some quarters and called mom. She told me that she had wired 100 bucks to the Western Union, which was right next to the laundromat.

Now I had $120, and went and spent 10 bucks on a special gift for Karrie; a pint of Crown Royal Canadian Whiskey (for the girl who has everything.) I could have gotten her a pair of slippers, but, I foresaw her putting them on and gushing "These slippers make me want some whiskey!" or...maybe a watch from the "dollar" store, but, again, I had a premonition of her putting it on, setting the time, winding it and then saying "Hey, it's time for some whiskey!", so, yeah.

She drank it and then started accusing me of having a relationship with her sister (who is 600 miles away)

I Call My Mom Again

I called my mom, thinking that if God used his rain to force me to choose to sit right next to a payphone, outside a laundromat, where there is a machine which exchanges quarters for dollars, and it is Christmas Day, and there is a girl next to me drawling "You ought to call your mom..."(despite the fact that this was potentially beer money that I was pumping into the phone.)

I called my mom and wished everyone a happy Christmas. Mom said that she had been staying current with this blog, and added that "It's been all about Karrie."

Karrie To Go To Jail For A Possibly Long Time

Karrie is to go to court on Thursday. This might be the last that I see of her for a long time, or, forever.

I have mixed feelings. Like I say, I love her with 50.1% of my heart, and I think I mean that.

12 Days And 12 Nights In Jacsonville

A S"Karrie" Experience
"The Purple Bus Snafu"

We Arrived in Jacksonville on that Saturday night that we hitch-hike ed there, after being mis-informed of the schedule of the purple bus, (which goes all the way to Jacksonville for only a dollar,) by one of their own drivers. It was the driver of the red bus who told us when and where to catch the purple bus all the way to Jacsonville in time to arrive at Altel Stadium for the letting out of the Florida/Georgia crowd (of drunken college kids with their parent's money, and alumni, with the money which was left over.


We worked the game. It was the most pathetic Florida/Georgia game as far as tips which I have ever seen in my 2 years of playing guitar outside of Florida/Georgia games, as noted in the prvious entry which I did in downtown Jacksonville, after having wrapped my guitar in plastic and hidden it in the deep woods of Mandarin in the palmettos, as guitars are not allowed in the Jacksonville downtown branch.


After the game, we eventually made it back to the camp, which was pretty much the way that Larry and I had left it, months before, with the exception of one large plant, which had resisted Larry's attempts to raise (translated: kill) it.

We slept on our brand new cardboard which Karrie carried on top of her head, right up San Jose blvd, through the most "posh" part of Mandarin, and over the creek and to the camp, with that total lack of shame of which she has made a science . I walked along beside ber, carrying my guitar, proud of her, and of science. Mandarin; the classiest, richest part of the city. Even the forests offer the homeless the finest of hardwood, privacy, closeness to nature with a rich variety of songbirds and interesting racoons, water and convenience to shopping, etc.


The next morning, we awoke to the sound of birds chirping; quality birds only found in the most affluent areas, not like the ghetto birds that you hear downtown, by any stretch of the imagination. I told Karrie about the boat ramp and it's private restrooms with running water, and soon, we were running ourselves, towards them, laden with soaps and lotions and potions of the most exotic order. Karrie had her full arsenal, right down to the foot scrubber!

We arrived at the boat ramp and were greeted by a Jacksonville Sheriff's Officer, who wanted to know where we were going and where we had come from and if we had ID. I resisted an impulse to be a smart-ass, but not totally. I told him that we were going northward on San Jose Boulevard, "just like you see."




When asked what we were doing, I told him that we were enjoying our constitutional rights as United States citezens to walk down a public way without fear of unreasonable harrassment.
He (they) handed us flyers which gave the addresses of all the homeless shelters downtown, and told us that if we were seen sleeping on the sidewalks in front of businesses then we would be arrested.


The Jaguars Game




Having spent the week in Jacksonville, and finding that the people in Mandarin were generally generous (on several occasions, cars pulled up and windows were rolled down and money handed out, with "Have you eaten today?" or something similar said), we passed the week this way; I had moderate success playing at the Barnes and Noble, and then Sunday came, and we headed for the Jaguar's game. They were playing the Kansas City Chiefs, who's stadium is shown above, and there was a sparse crowd, due to the fact that the Jaguars are not doing much better than the Kansas City Chiefs.

It was a miserable experience. I sat and played and made about 9 dollars from at least 2,000 who walked past.

Karrie asked a Chinese man if he had any money that she could have. He handed her 20 dollars. I fought the urge to be jealous or resentful. I suppose one of my ulterior motives in bringing her with me, was her ability to solicit money from Chinese men. "At least now, we can get some liquour," said Karrie, alluding to the biggest counter-motive against bringing Karrie with me. Yeah, and a bus ride out of this ghetto before the sun sets, I didn't say.


Taxes To Be Filed As Self-Employed Street Musician...
Now I am at the library on the following Wednesday. It rained all morning. We had neglected to safeguard our clothing from such an act of God, and so, spent the morning at the laundromat, where no lizards crawled out of our stuff, and we dried the clothing. Karrie occupied the ladies' room in a state of near-nakedness while her clothes spun in the drier. Still, with the temperatures forcast to be in the 40's tonight, neither one of us is equipped to do anything except sit in front of a fire or curl up in a sleeping bag.
I am about to work on a spreadsheet which will document my earnings for the past two years, so that the IRS can pore over them and hopefully send my "earned income" credit in the form of a hefty check.

To Be continued...