Going Mobile

A Night For Flight
Tonight just might be the night that I get on the train bound for New Orleans.

That's All I'm Saying

What Was He Trying To Say??

Jacob's Lager
Saturday night, I sat at the acoustically superior spot and thought I played pretty well. I didn't make a dime, even though about 25 people walked by during the hour and a half that I was there. They were all lost in their conversations and oblivious. I was totally broke, so I couldn't even seed my case. I want to get another fake dollar, like the kind that Christians leave on the sidewalk, which look real enough to cause people to bend over and pick them up, whereupon they realise that it is a bible "tract," and not legal tender. They make good seeding "money." 
I then went up to the spot by the hot dog cart guy and, at a few minutes past midnight, a young black lady put five bucks in my empty case. I ran down to the store and got two beers, drinking them as I walked back. A beggar asked me for one of them. I almost hit him. 
On the way back to my spot, I ran into a guy named Jacob, who was from across the bay and who had left his ID across the bay, and so was stuck outside while his friends were inside a club. He asked me where I was going to play and if he could come and sit with me. "I play some. I've been playing for six years," he added. He told me that, to pass the time, while waiting on his friends, he was just sitting in the car "drinking a 12-pack of beer." Perfect.
We got to the spot around 1 am. He had stuffed a few cans of beer in his cargo pants pockets (those things hold more than it appears that they would) and we cracked them open, hiding them behind us in between sips.
I did a few songs and added a couple bucks to the three, which were left after buying the beer.
Jacob asked if he could play the guitar. I told him that he could, but asked him to change places with me, so he would be sitting by the case. "We can split any tips that might materialise."
He played pretty decently, for a sixth-year student. One good thing was that, given his age of 20 years (which made it impossible for him to get in the club without his ID) he knew the "next generation" of songs, one's which were from the 2000's, as opposed to the late 70's, early 80's stuff that I play. In this way, he cast a net for snaring the tip money of those his age, which turned into a five, a few ones and another five, within a brief amount of time.
I switched from backup vocals to guitar and played, while he ran to get more beer from his car. I was happy to have made at least something, though 17 bucks looks like more than it is, when it is composed of two five dollar bills, and the rest ones. I had gathered from our conversation that he probably wouldn't want half of the tip money, since "across the bay" is where the wealthy folk live, he kept running to the forty thousand dollar car for more beer, and was periodically using his 500 dollar "i"-phone to check with his friends in the club. I was right on that account.
When 3:30 a.m.came, and his friends emerged from the club, he left me with two beers, got this blog address (ooh, must be careful what I write) and then told me that the money in the guitar case was "all you."
By four in the morning, I was back at my sleeping spot with about 17 bucks and change, and my alarm set to go to church at the Central Presbyterian Church in a mere three and a half hours.
Normally, there would be no way in hell (excuse the pun) that I would jump up hung over and on three hours of sleep and walk almost two miles to a church service but, at 8:30, the sun was already beaming down upon me, making it too hot to sleep. It would reach 100 degrees that day.
Sleepers Awake
I am also sleeping at the Christ Church spot, where it is not a good idea on a Sunday morning to sleep in too late. That is kind of their busy day. I marvel at the enormity of that edifice and at the fact that it basically exists all for a couple of hours every Sunday, and maybe some kind of small gathering on Wednesday nights. So much brick and mortar and lush appointments inside, all for two hours on Sunday!
They also run the air conditioning 24/7, probably to keep the humidity level down so as to protect the lush appointments inside.

I have never been inside the Christ Church. I might some time.
From what I have seen of the "flock" that once had to step over me as I was laying in front of the main entrance, they seem very nice; at least from that angle.

I was sleeping there because it was probably a rainy night, and that entrance is covered. I was in front of the door probably because the cool air from inside leaks out the crack between the doors and the marble floor. So, it must have been a hot rainy night.
They were very well dressed older people and were considerate enough to step very lightly and push the door gently open, as if not wanting to wake myself and whomever else might have been there. Of course, the surest way to wake someone is to tip-toe around, trying to be quiet, as if up to something clandestine. I remember that we got up and packed up and left, before the lions share of the flock of sheep arrived.
Central Presbyterian Awakening
I had about 20 minutes to walk the two miles to the church. I set out, wondering every step of the way why I was going there. I wasn't really too hungry and probably wouldn't want to eat much of the free breakfast, which is offered to all but served to mostly the homeless, from 8:30 to 9:20, every Sunday morning.
The service was already in progress. I had arrived at 9:23, missing the free meal by three minutes. Somebody later faulted them for not at least making me a sandwich but, I think they were diverted by the guitar on my back. They told me that I could join the group which was playing on the altar.
I thought about that, and came to some realizations which I might not have come to, had I not walked two miles through the heat, hung over and on three hours of sleep.
The first one was, that I was in no musical mood at all.
Three hours earlier, I was drinking and playing and singing and enjoying it. What goes up, must come down, and my mood was proof of this. I just wasn't "feeling" it. I couldn't see how me going up on the altar to join the group in playing songs like "How Great Thou Art" was going to help anything. 
There were a couple of guitarists and a bass player.  I knew that I could make them sound better by adding lead guitar but the pews were full of fellow street people, and I was sure that some of them would be expecting me to try to show off, and I knew that that wasn't what the service was supposed to be "all about."
It certainly is what playing street music is all about; getting people to think that you are good enough that you might be "famous " one day, and they could tell all their friends that they saw you when you were (just) playing on the street, (and now look at him...).
This was ironic, since, one of my complaints against other churches is that their musical programs are pre-arranged and asking someone who walks in carrying a guitar to immediately get up and play is something they would never do. They would lose control over the proceedings by introducing an unknown commodity; a musician who may or may not be truly "saved."
So, I sat through the service. Afterwards, I was told again by one of the elders that if I ever want to play, I could. I should have told them that I don't expect to be in Mobile by next weekend.

I played at the artwalk last night and made a piddling, measly amount of money. There were other musicians out; none of them seemed to be doing much better. I guess that is the sign of a bad economy, coming to roost in my guitar case.

There are also people working against me, like the guy with the hat, who stands out in front of his restaurant, telling passersby not to tip me. I think he feels like he has a lot of political power and can run someone out of town, if he likes.
I am trying to avoid back to back lousy days.

Up On My Reading

...as good as any other planet I might stick here...

The Last Week; And This Past Week 
I walked the aisles of the library, realising that there are many subjects which I have an interest in, and which I would like to study.
I want to read the biographies of a lot of people, survey art, study more books on music, chess, drawing and even card tricks.
I also wish to brush up upon books about writing comedy, and writing for publication, and I want to learn more about how to start a business online, how to market my songs and writings etc.
Maybe the self-help section could yield a book on "How to get everything done which you want to do and learn everything necessary for making sense out of the world at least for a fleeting moment, before passing on."
I sure would like to read all the classics, as well as stay abreast of all the monthly and weekly magazines, and in essence, make myself into a Jeopardy contestant to be reckoned with....
Someday, I'll get back to studying computer programming languages and scripts and will be able to give this blog a shot in the arm and fancy it up, to include my songs and videos, too.
This is a normal psychological reaction to an impending move, I find. It is similar to the phenomenon that I saw when I was in school as a kid and the summer vacation was winding down with only a matter of days remaining before the next school year commenced.
It was then that I almost always wanted to start some massive project, like putting a 2,500 piece jigsaw puzzle together, or learning to play a Chopin piece on the piano.
This is an "avoidance" type of thing, there is probably a name for it in psychology books which I would know if I was up on my reading.

This could be one boring Thursday night, unless I can put myself in a more resourceful state of mind.

Taking Stock Of Past 12 Years

My dad would have been 84 years old tomorrow. What would his advice have been to me about Karrie?
World
I haven't been paying much attention to the world. Most of the news I get is from 2 year old Time magazines, which I find in the bins at the Recycling Center. I just read a piece about Tiger Woods and what a great influence he is as a role model to kids, written in May of 2009.
Nation
I haven't been paying much attention to things in the nation. I understand the stock market took a dive recently. I was in Phoenix, Arizona in 1999, during the "internet bubble" which propelled the stock market to what we all kind of felt were unsustainable heights. I was at TD Waterhouse, pouring as much of my profits from working as a cab driver as I could, into such issues as Power Integrations, Ericsonn Telecomm, and Redhat. When I say "as much...as I could," I mean that I moved into a cave up on South Mountain, where I cooked my food, slept, fed the squirrrels so many peanuts that I had a peanut-shell carpet (easy on the knees) and listened to Financial News Radio on my cheap AM radio. If I made 100 bucks driving the cab, I would spend about 20 of it on things for the cave, (like oil for the lamps which kept rats from coming in at night,) and then write TD Waterhouse a check for the balance. I haven't been able to bring myself to give a landlord money since.
I had no idea what Power Integrations was, or what they did. Neither did the "Financial News" network guy, who came on the AM radio at 5 (a.m.) and highly recommended it one morning. "I have no idea what they make," he said unashamedly, "but the stock is up 15% this week alone and 390% since its IPO, two months ago. I love this stock!" Exclaimed over the airwaves on 1550 AM at five in the morning, this was, which meant that it was eight in the morning on Wall Street. TD Waterhouse was open at that hour to accomodate all of us traders.
A couple of sidenotes: One day, an Oriental guy was at the brokerage, short selling thousands of shares of Yahoo with a "strike price" or whatever its called, of 6 dollars. The thing was trading at like 190, and had recently jumped there from somewhere around 100, and showed no signs of letting up. He was the only guy there who was selling short, and certainly the only Oriental guy there selling short. After he left, even the Customer Service Rep behind the counter remarked "That guy just sold Yahoo short at 6 bucks a share!" Jaws dropped open around the room. "That's weird," I thought.
I thought a lot more about that Oriental guy during the next year, as shares of Yahoo fell to under 2 bucks each. He might OWN a chunk of The Orient now.


There Is Always Dalton, Georgia To Consider

The second quick sidenote; yes, I was visited by three of them, one a foot long, another two feet long, and one of about 5 feet, while living in the cave. Diamondback Rattlesnakes, I refer to, of course. They don't run. They stand their ground and rattle at you. I had to throw my hot sauce bottle at the big one, to drive it under a rock, from where it emitted a half hearted rattle every now and then.
Health
My health is still good since the 7 day fast I went on last week. It feels like my joints have been oiled. They move more easily and quietly and I feel like I am slinking along like the Pink Panther when I walk.
Finance
Not much to report here. I had $12.49 on me, when I woke up. Sadly, all I can think of right now is drinking $12.49 worth of strong alcohol as soon as I leave the library here. I am an "evening" alcoholic. You won't catch me drunk before noon.
Travel
Tuscaloosa is the place where I feel most led by the gentle voice of the Holy Spirit. There is a college there. I want to get out of music and into movie-making, and I won't have to go to Orlando, Florida where there is a college dedicated to the science of motion picture making. Tuscaloosa was hit by a tornado, and there is reportedly work there. I want to get back to work so I can snap up those shares of Yahoo, which are such a great value now.
The only thing is the name: Tuscaloosa. I'll have to get used to that.
Becca said that she has friends who attend the University Of Alabama there, and that I might look them up and maybe get some advice on how to worm my way into the college scene; and acquire knowledge without paying for it.

Karrie Located

Public Nuisance

On a whim, I Googled Karrie's name, and up popped a recent mugshot, from Dalton, Georgia. Apparently, Karrie was arrested about two weeks ago for "Public Intoxication." I have to admit that the scenario kind of fits, leading me to think that it is actually Karrie, and not an impostor. It looks like she is taking a little better care of her hair than she did when she was with me; it looks shinier.
I don't know what to do with this information. If she is back in Dalton, then she is back with her abusive family, which burned her when she was an infant, so that they could usurp her disability checks.
Some guy who fathered 4 kids with Karrie, got with her younger sister when the sister turned 16, took the house, the sister and Karrie's kids (plus a couple new ones, which he had with the sister) and tossed Karrie out onto the street. That was part of what I gathered from Karrie, from her "morning babbles," which usually started after her "morning shots of straight vodka."
This seems to be normal, acceptable behavior amongst Mexicans who live rurally. (There is more on Karrie in the "for more information on..." section to the left, but one must go back 14 months.)
It's A Small World, After all
I met another guy, here in Mobile, who turned out to be from Dalton, Georgia and, guess what? He was burned over 40% of his body when he was an infant; he collects a check every month. I was idly chatting about my ex girlfriend, and when I mentioned her burns, he asked where she was from. When I said Dalton, Georgia, he exclaimed "No Way! Dude, I'm from Dalton!" I described Karrie. He said that he thinks that he knows her.
I Should Have Been Long Gone By Now
Meanwhile, I have hung around Mobile, trying to take care of the business of reactivating my food stamp card, so I will have one less worry in my new environment, and to take care of replacing my ID card, so I will have another less thing to worry about in my new environment. These things have kept me here a month longer than I had planned, and just about run me into financial ruin, as the money has dried up here in Mobile. Supposedly, there is work in Tuscaloosa. It is not quite as far away as Joplin, Mo., and not quite as cold there in the winter.

I am going to do something radical; I'm steeling my nerves for it.

Becca Comes By Thursday Night

Becca, and her friend came by my playing spot Thursday night, on their way to see a movie.

My Prayer

Continued from yesterday...
And...I didn't make a dime, no, not one. There were enough people walking by, there was an Olympic tryout boxing tournament at the Mobile Convention Center, the same one where they have the Holy Spirit revivals.
I was at the acoustically superior spot. I was playing to my satisfaction. I would say that about 30 people walked by, not including types like Chris, who constantly circles the hub of Mobile on his route of ashtrays, looking for cigarettes which haven't been totally smoked. He passed me about 5 times (I guess a butt doesn't have a long shelf life around Dauphin Street in Mobile). Out of the 30, none of them threw a dollar in my case, even though I had "seeded" it by putting four of my own dollars in it, along with some change. It was sounding good, with the reverb of the New York Hi Style's glass case being oddly in tune with my guitar, which was given back to me by the police in an untuned state, and which I kept in the region of that untuning for at least two reasons:
One, because my voice, after my being caged for the better part of the previous past, wanted to start low and then gradually and naturally stretch its way up into the soninc strati of the Greats. The detuned guitar was good for that. (Note: To the (possible) credit of the officers of the Mobile Metro Police, the strings were all tuned lower, all six. This means that someone didn't just randomly twist the pegs (with a sadistic grin, and drooling) in "any" direction. Someone detuned all six, which is a recomended practice when storing a guitar for any considerable length of time. They had only put me in jail for one open container of alcoholic beverage in a park, which is an overnighter for most, but you never know; it might have been my seventh one in two months, wherupon the judge would prone to multiply the sentence of one day by a factor of oh, say sixty. So, I might have been in the clink long enough to have want for my guitar to be detuned, and someone may have been doing me a favor, (or maybe he had a sadistic grin and was drooling and just happened to flatten all the notes and sharpen none).)
Either way, now that I think of it, I can't figure out how loosening the strings when storing a guitar will help anything, except maybe the strings. When you are playing the guitar every day, you keep the strings tight, so, why would it hurt to keep the strings tight for months without playing it??  But, that is what the myth is; loosen them before you store the thing...horsecrap...
So, I didn't make a cent; and oh; the second reason is that if the cops detuned the guitar intending "to screw him up" then I am going to show them that the beauty of my music, when there is any, comes from a higher source and is not dependent upon the pitch range of the guitar, (or some bullshit.)
End of topic.
Fairhope, I Hope
I hope I can get to Fairhope tomorrow, across the water filled bay
To Fairhope I hope I can get tomorrow, I hope that they'll let my ass play
I can imagine the people liking my music
It's lyric intensive and doesn't make you-sick

Oh, Fairhope I hope you're a haven for me
I want a few things, too, nothing is free



This is how I would like to spend my retirement;
relaxing...jumping my motorbike, ahh, yes!!

 I plan upon taking the bus over to Fairhope tomorrow and trying to play there, during the Artwalk that they are scheduled to have (the weather report is good, by the way). The Artwalk in Mobile has yeileded some good nights for me, money-wise. I think the best nights that I've had in Mobile were either during the Bayfest Music Festival, where people come in droves, or after the Robert Plant show at the Saenger Theatre, where people who are my age, but have chosen a different path than I in life, a path that has led to them to 6.7 million times more money than I have, suggested by the fact that they had just paid 200 bucks to see one-fifth of Led Zepplin, (whom I heard are not very good in concert when they're all there).
There are some things that someone your exact age connects with you on, that nobody else can, I think. I remember being "blessed" with scads of paper money. It was as if these people, who probably drove in that day, and were staying at the $175 per night hotel that night, should have said "Here; buy yourself something nice" when they dropped their tips. I can honestly say that never in my life had I ever contemplated following Robert Plant around, until then...
My point is this. The residents of Fairhope tend more towards the likes of the Robert Plant audience than they do say, Chris, the guy who walks the multi-mile route through downtown Mobile, picking ashtrays. This might be in my favor, provided I am not run out of town for not looking, acting and thinking like the residents, oh I'm sorry; and not smelling, like the residents of Fairhope, Alabama USA...
My prayer: Please Lord, enough money so I can relax and breath easy for a period of time dependent upon how frugal I am. Amen.
I think Becca Griffin lives around Fairhope, so maybe it really is some kind of enchanted place...

Breakfast

(Come See This Kind Of Stuff)

It is Wednesday morning. Last night, I played at the acoustically superior spot for about 2 hours but didn't make any tip money. This wasn't so bad, given that I was playing to my own satisfaction. There was a road race going on, with runners finishing the race right by my spot. Lots of them were milling about the area, but had no money on them, as I guess it would have slowed them down on the course.
Fairhope First Friday Artwalk
This is not the best portent of my prospects here in Mobile. If I don't make anything tonight, then, I will plan upon taking the bus to Fairhope, for their First Friday Artwalk, which is...Friday, and this will distance me from the downtown area and maybe let my music take flight without having to resist all the negativity which permeates the air here like humidity. The fact that I had spent no money on beer or cigarettes throughout the fasting period has given me a cushion. I should at least be able to get to Fairhope, and then just "hope" that I will be able to busk there, without interference.

Last Supper Was Last Wednesday

They Stole My Book
Yesterday (Sunday), when I woke up, the sky was blue; "not a cloud in sight." This is how the previous two days had started, before thunderstorms and torrential rains came in the mid-afternoon. This day looked different, the skies being even clearer than the past two days. I spread my sleeping bag out on Elizabeth Williams (d. 1827) marble grave-top to dry in the sun, sat and read some of The Da Vinci Code in another spot, towards the entrance to the graveyard. I then put down the book, with the paged fanned open, facing the sun, so it would dry. It was damp from the two previous days, which fooled me by started out clear and then turning very unclear.
After I posted Sunday's post, I went back into the graveyard to find that my copy of The Da Vinci Code- front cover missing, pages damp- had been stolen off of the gravestone where I left it to dry.
I discussed this with Jeff, the Potter, whom I called before leaving the library, and who told me that the letter from my mom, - the one containing the copy of my birth certificate- had arrived at his house. I would need the document the following day, in my quest to replace my ID card, which was lost last August because it was in the case of the guitar which got stolen. (See "They Stole My Guitar" from August '10 for more on that).
Jeff surmised that a family, who only visit their great-great-great-grandfather's grave once a year, came all the way from Lexington, Kentucky (or somewhere) to do just that and were mortified (excuse the pun) to see a copy of The Da Vinci Code, wet and missing its cover, on top of the revered monument, whereupon they removed and discarded it.
I surmised that, any one of the local "Bible Belt" fundamentalists visiting the graveyard saw the book and took affront over the fact that the book has been called anti-Christian, and its dampness preventing them from burning it, they removed and discarded it.
My second theory was that one of the other homeless people, one with the "crab mentality" came upon the book, and surmising who owned it (by eliminating all the illiterates who sleep in the graveyard) and removed and discarded it, just to deprive me of it. I checked all the waste cans in the immediate area, but, no Da Vinci Code.
I wonder if whomever stole it maybe scratched something into the marble at the scene which, when deciphered, would provide a message to me, a very important one....hmm...
Thunderstorm Sneaks Up

Then,I went to Save-A-Lot, even though I am not eating, and while I was in there, the sky clouded up, thunder and lightning rumbled and flashed respectively, and I waited out the storm there, thinking about my sleeping bag and how it was keeping Ms. Williams grave dry.
Jeff brought me the letter from my mom, we had a nice talk, then he dropped me off back in town.
I went into the graveyard, rolled up my soggy bag and then trundled off towards the Christ Church spot, which has the hot air vents blowing all night out of the AC unit thing.
I hung my bag to dry in front of it, washed my sneakers and socks and a shirt, and hung them along with it, and then walked, shirtless and shoeless to a spot which is brightly lit, so that I could read.
I opened my bible to a random page and, with my eyes closed, placed my finger down. I was relying upon the faith that the passage would speak to me in my plight. My finger fell upon the last chapter of the book of Haggai. In it the Lord points out to the people that they sow but they don't reap, they eat but it doesn't satisfy, they drink but it doesn't quench. It was because they had put off rebuilding the temple.
I thought about how the past year has produced next to nothing, at least nothing tangible. God said that he was going to begin to bless them, at the point that they began to rebuild. It was a sign that I maybe should go to the tornado ravaged areas and help them rebuild; and I will be blessed.
I spent a good hour reading. When I got back, my bag was pretty dry.
ID Replacement
Up in the morning, it was off to the RBC Bank (the royal bank of Canada, by the way) to cash my jail check. First, I stopped at the Dauphine (used) Book Store and bought another copy of The Da vinci Code, for 2 dollars. I then went over to the ID place, where I managed to get my ID. Next, I made the mile walk to the food stamp office, through 98 degree humidity,  to take a number and be told the third time "come back tomorrow" and they will "expedite" my process, so that I will have food money within 24 hours. This might be the time to break the fast; unless a burning bush or an angel tells me otherwise.
I Get Guitar And Backpack Back
I stepped out of the food stamp office, into the furnace-like temperatures, and decided to walk another two miles to the police station, to retrieve my belongings, which I had been without for the entire weekend. I did this (walk) to pay for the copy of The Da Vinci Code, which was the same amount of money as a bus ride each way would have been.  It was a pretty grueling walk, having not eaten in 5 days. I stopped at Starbucks and got a "Pelegrinno" mineral water, along the way, using the gift card that Alyne and Mike sent last spring in a care package, and then another one at the Rite Aid. That brand of water is from (Pelegrinno) Italy, and might have some minerals that you can't get over in this continent, minerals which might restore your sanity if taken during physical exertion in the heat, you never know. The Rite Aid had small bottles of Pinot Grigio wine on sale for $1.50, which I had to walk past to get to the mineral water. I almost decided upon the wine instead, telling myself the fructose in it would be good for me, or some other rationale.
Then;tired after a day of walking in the heat and accomplishing four things, I repeated the previous nights prole of reading, washing clothes and sleeping. 

Nashville

Fast Broken On Day 6
Around noontime today, I broke my 6 day fast with three bananas from Save-A-Lot, and here I sit. Tomorrow, I will have a couple hundred bucks on the food card, and can seriously look into a move to either New Orleans, Tuscaloosa (because I heard there is a lot of work [something I haven't been able to find in 4 years because God wanted me to be a street musician] cleaning up the debris from the tornadoes that ripped through there recently), or Nashville (because I just read a lengthy article about the making of Bob Dylan's "Blond On Blond," album, and got the notion that it would be cool to go to a place that bills itself as "Music City," or "The Music Capitol Of The World," or whatever they think Nashville is. I'm sure that there are a lot of technically proficient musicians there, who can play in any style, but lack creativity. There are songwriters there who need backing musicians, and musicians who need songs written. Plus, I ain't never been nowhere Elvis ever walked and talked and slept -it's about time, perhaps.
Now, here it is, Tuesday afternoon.
Tonight, I may try to play on the street for an hour or two, just to see if I can make a dollar.

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Today

Good To See That I'm
Maintaining My Stature

Wednesday night, they put me in the Mobile Metro Jail again. I was sitting in Bienville Park with 4 or 5 other guys, we were drinking beer and I was playing my guitar. My beer was finished and the empty can was sitting under the bench. The other guys, seeing the special task force which seems to have been assembled to harass the homeless, stashed their cans out of sight. Myself, I was busy playing a song, and had forgotten about my empty can underneath me.
I got to the jail to see at least a dozen of my contemporaries in the same boat. The city is closing downtown shelters and moving them out into rural areas. This way, the homeless would need to buy a bus token in order to come into the downtown area and panhandle.
The task force is part of the initiative. There were a few guys in the lockup who said "As soon as I get out of here, I'm leaving Mobile." This is exactly what the cop want them to say and do. There is a defiant side of me that wants to be stubborn and stay longer, but, I would only be hurting myself.
They put me in a two man cell with 4 other guys, yes 5 guys in a 2 man cell.
I guess the task force has been busy.

Jail Is "All About" The Food Trays

I went to sleep and slept all the way through breakfast, except for a moment when one of my cellmates kicked my foot and told me that it was time for the breakfast "tray." I said something like "OK," and then continued to lay there.

Of course, he then had to follow the script, learned through years of institutionalisation, and say "If you're not going to eat it, get up and get it and give it to someone (I think we know who he had in mind) else."

I said that, if I got up and walked all the way out into the day room to get the tray, then I might as well eat it myself.
He walked out, and I heard him repeating what I had said to another inmate, seeking a ruling or opinion of some kind. He mumbled about it all morning, keeping my sleep light. Then lunch came, and he repeated the process of kicking my foot. I told him that if I gave my lunch to anyone, it would not be someone that woke me up, out a peaceful sleep. I lay back down, and as I drifted back to sleep, I could hear him telling the guard who was passing out the trays, that I had given him permission to eat my lunch, because I was not feeling good, and was not hungry. The guard refused to go along. I don't think the inmate, who they called "Pops," even enjoyed his own meal, so enraged was he over what he considered a lost opportunity to get two lunches.
I thought about getting up at the evening mealtime, getting my tray and giving it to "somebody else," picked at random. I wonder if that would have satisfied Pops, knowing that the county didn't get to keep the tray (one of his arguments), and that I had done the right thing in sharing with one of my fellow prisoners.
I think, rather, that that would have caused a scuffle, maybe some pushing and shoving and harsh words.
I have seen the dynamic at work which makes men more animal-like. It seems to stem from putting them in cages and then throwing them food thrice daily, always at the same times.
I decided to fast the whole two and a half days. I eventually gave my cellmates the very last of my trays, after the judge had set me free, and I was only waiting on "the paperwork," or for the people who push the paperwork. This was not before Pops, in yet another one of his appeals actually told me that he would appreciate it if I would give him my dinner tray, because he was "starving." "I haven't eaten in two days, and you're what?"
The tray was divided somewhat equally amongst my cellmates, with Pops getting the lion's share, probably based upon some lie that he had concocted for the others.
That kind of restored the peace and, as I left, I apologised for being "kind of grumpy," but blamed it upon the fact that I wasn't eating. They said that they understood. "This is jail," said one of them. They wished me luck.
I was out the door by about 8 pm. My money had been given back to me in the form of a check, which cannot be cashed until next Monday. My guitar and my backpack are at the main police station building, a two mile walk, and cannot be gotten until next Monday.
I continue the fast, breaking it only for a 64 oz. can of tomato juice, this morning, with some instant potatoes mixed in, and a few drops of hot sauce.
It is Saturday afternoon. I keep reaching for my guitar, every time I get a musical idea. Last night I was reaching for my mosquito repellent, my radio, and a bunch of other things that I had been taking for granted that are in my pack. I had also been using the pack as a pillow, especially when it is stuffed with clean laundry.
Last (Friday) night, there were people out on Dauphin Street. The temperature wasn't too high and there was a pretty good crowd. All I could do was sit there, feeling useless.
Now, I wait until Monday to walk the two miles to get my stuff, then cash my check and, after a visit to the food stamp office, I should be ready to say my goodbyes to Mobile.

Free To Go

I know you all need some kind of picture, so here;
I just might go to New Orleans on a whim, instead of
Missouri, to help the tornado victims.
I won't be helping any tornado victims in New Orleans...

It was a rather ordinary Wednesday, except for the fact that I got a couple of things done.
I slept at the Christ Church spot, under the vent that blows hot air all night. It rained and everything was wet, except the ground right around the vent.
I washed all of my clothes, to include my sneakers and hung them all in the bush in front of the vent.
At one point in the night, I was a bit chilly, so I reached and grabbed the purple tee shirt, which was bone dry on the bush.
Tonight, I will go back to sleeping on the grave of Elizabeth Williams, wife of the late Nathaniel Williams.
I won't be in Mobile for very long, I can feel it.
When I gaze around, there is a nostalgia.
I really only miss Joelle Underhill, for some reason, already.
She represents something, but I cannot quantify it.
They are getting ready to close the library.
I went to the Federal building and picked up the check for the sum of the balance of my account at the Baldwin County Jail. There is a box in my backpack which, when x-rayed, looks just like an explosive device of some kind.
I had to say "Oh, wow!," when I saw it myself, the first time I visited the Federal building. It is a box with a disposable camera, batteries, an aluminum flashlight, guitar strings, a harmonica and nail clippers etc. It really looks like a bomb.
The first time I visited the place, the Marshalls at the entrance insisted that I let them look inside my pack.
This morning, it was more of the same, but they gave me the check for the balance of my jail account.
Now, I am only waiting to turn my food card back on, tomorrow morning, I hope, and then I am free to roam.
Free to go.