Oceanside, First Entry
Oceanside, California
I made it to Oceanside stone cold sober, smelling of an unshowered beast on a five day long bus trip, and so tired I wanted to tear my eye balls out of their sockets so I'd never have to open them up again. But as I made my way down to the beach, I heard merry tweaker songs comming from a poorly tuned and equally poorly cared after guitar.
My friend Juan on the guitar was surrounded by all sorts of my favorite, and most familar types of people. Gangsters, anarchists, derelicts, drunks, tweakers, slammers, stoners, vampires, punks, hustlers, and the general filthy bum that occasionally sang along to a song that had no real words nor had even been commited to paper.
Juan and Slow Joe (The guy in front of Juan) were not young like many of my homeless brethren that sourrounded the picnic area late at night long after the beach had closed. But they were considered elders. Superiors. Granted a sort of unspoken respect that so few on the streets could to enjoy. When Slow-Joe found some barbie dolls and other toys in the dumpster, I suddenly had an idea. In a desire to protest honophobic opression and anti-gay-marriage laws I did the unspeakable. BEHOLD!
Ken doll? We don't need no stinking Ken doll!
When I woke up in the sand I heard bells and chimes and all sorts of odd noises not unique to the beach. Granted when you awake on the beach you hear things like waves, people talking and walking, sea gulls, and ocean spray with just a hint of wind. Basically whatever a pirate would hear, I suppose. But this was definately something different.
I walked over to the open ampitheater to find that there was a Korean Buddhist Peace Seminar going on, and i just HAD to watch! All my street friends were bored by it and took off, probobly to ask for change or rob old people. Bunch of losers. I thought it was awsome so I stuck around for the whole thing.
However the time for lounging it up and thuggin' in down at the beach was not to last long. I returned to Oceanside because I got "squishy" in New Jersey living with my sister and hanging with my rich Aunt and Cousin, and occasionally my mom (when she was around). They bought me all sorts of food and had no work out equipment to speak of. And when a big guy is not homeless, eating all the time, and doing no activity, the mother fucker gets a little squishy.
I had to say good bye to Oceanside after sleeping on the beach for a week. It was time to find my way to Vista, my hometown. And for all intensive purposes it could be called my birth place, because I'd never lived anywhere for any longer than in Vista. There I had all my workout equipment I'd been buying and saving for six years now. It was only a 20Minute city-bus ride from the beach. I would return to Oceanside later.
When I got to the Vista bus station I stumbled off, drunken, stoned, to a nearby park where I had experieinced my first night of homelessness ever. It was a 20 minute walk from the home that I had escaped from to become the ronin I am today.
I put down my back pack, disarmed my nunchaku, and laid out my trench coat for a nice, short, sunny, late-morning nap at "Kevel Rock", my first homeless "bed". I slept for at least four hours there, rolling and lounging it up in the warm sun. it was awwwwwsome. =)
As I marched up the hill I grew up on, traffic zipped by at careless speeds. My old house was one of VERY few houses left on Escondido Ave, which had slowly become a business district. Now we were surrounded by stores and establishments. Entering the driveway, my little brother, Alexander Graves greeted me. He's the dork with the Ninja Tree Climbing Claws on his hands below.
I hugged my little bro and said hello to the rest of the family. There I met up with my Aunt Sue, my Cousin Terri, my Uncle Mark, and my Cousin Kristie. After the hello's and greetings were in order it was off to the backyard, the Torture Chamber ...
It was here they kept all my fitness and athletic equipment I had acquired over the years. as I travel almost constantly, my gear becomes repeatedly dusty. My dirt bike needs a fresh tank of gas. My bowflex needs to be hosed down. My weights need to be wiped off.
As you can see, I have a lot of work ahead of me.
And so concludes my first month in Oceanside. Until the next month, expect updates to be minimal.
-Father Grave-
I made it to Oceanside stone cold sober, smelling of an unshowered beast on a five day long bus trip, and so tired I wanted to tear my eye balls out of their sockets so I'd never have to open them up again. But as I made my way down to the beach, I heard merry tweaker songs comming from a poorly tuned and equally poorly cared after guitar.
My friend Juan on the guitar was surrounded by all sorts of my favorite, and most familar types of people. Gangsters, anarchists, derelicts, drunks, tweakers, slammers, stoners, vampires, punks, hustlers, and the general filthy bum that occasionally sang along to a song that had no real words nor had even been commited to paper.
Juan and Slow Joe (The guy in front of Juan) were not young like many of my homeless brethren that sourrounded the picnic area late at night long after the beach had closed. But they were considered elders. Superiors. Granted a sort of unspoken respect that so few on the streets could to enjoy. When Slow-Joe found some barbie dolls and other toys in the dumpster, I suddenly had an idea. In a desire to protest honophobic opression and anti-gay-marriage laws I did the unspeakable. BEHOLD!
Ken doll? We don't need no stinking Ken doll!
When I woke up in the sand I heard bells and chimes and all sorts of odd noises not unique to the beach. Granted when you awake on the beach you hear things like waves, people talking and walking, sea gulls, and ocean spray with just a hint of wind. Basically whatever a pirate would hear, I suppose. But this was definately something different.
I walked over to the open ampitheater to find that there was a Korean Buddhist Peace Seminar going on, and i just HAD to watch! All my street friends were bored by it and took off, probobly to ask for change or rob old people. Bunch of losers. I thought it was awsome so I stuck around for the whole thing.
However the time for lounging it up and thuggin' in down at the beach was not to last long. I returned to Oceanside because I got "squishy" in New Jersey living with my sister and hanging with my rich Aunt and Cousin, and occasionally my mom (when she was around). They bought me all sorts of food and had no work out equipment to speak of. And when a big guy is not homeless, eating all the time, and doing no activity, the mother fucker gets a little squishy.
I had to say good bye to Oceanside after sleeping on the beach for a week. It was time to find my way to Vista, my hometown. And for all intensive purposes it could be called my birth place, because I'd never lived anywhere for any longer than in Vista. There I had all my workout equipment I'd been buying and saving for six years now. It was only a 20Minute city-bus ride from the beach. I would return to Oceanside later.
When I got to the Vista bus station I stumbled off, drunken, stoned, to a nearby park where I had experieinced my first night of homelessness ever. It was a 20 minute walk from the home that I had escaped from to become the ronin I am today.
I put down my back pack, disarmed my nunchaku, and laid out my trench coat for a nice, short, sunny, late-morning nap at "Kevel Rock", my first homeless "bed". I slept for at least four hours there, rolling and lounging it up in the warm sun. it was awwwwwsome. =)
As I marched up the hill I grew up on, traffic zipped by at careless speeds. My old house was one of VERY few houses left on Escondido Ave, which had slowly become a business district. Now we were surrounded by stores and establishments. Entering the driveway, my little brother, Alexander Graves greeted me. He's the dork with the Ninja Tree Climbing Claws on his hands below.
I hugged my little bro and said hello to the rest of the family. There I met up with my Aunt Sue, my Cousin Terri, my Uncle Mark, and my Cousin Kristie. After the hello's and greetings were in order it was off to the backyard, the Torture Chamber ...
It was here they kept all my fitness and athletic equipment I had acquired over the years. as I travel almost constantly, my gear becomes repeatedly dusty. My dirt bike needs a fresh tank of gas. My bowflex needs to be hosed down. My weights need to be wiped off.
As you can see, I have a lot of work ahead of me.
And so concludes my first month in Oceanside. Until the next month, expect updates to be minimal.
-Father Grave-