Homeless in the wilderness 🐺

You’re not homeless when you choose to keep your heat at fifty degrees or lower all winter or take your big jacked up truck to the wilderness to spend a few cold nights winter camping. I can’t argue with these points but I still don’t feel like my rundown apartment that I ride my mountain bike to work from most days is really my home. It’s an apartment, a month by month deal, an interim place until I find a real home.

Winter camping can be harsh at times. The nights are long, and when the wind picks up it can be cold. You’re literally living outside, my truck cap is unheated. But it’s about as close as I can be to my real home, as it’s not in the city with all it’s advertising and plastic. The fake political fights, the angry news headlines, the endless reminders that cops have rifles aimed up your ass and you’re a rent payment away from being out oun the street. People are like, don’t you just want another plastic house with a big payment, and a commute in an SUV in traffic to your suburban office building next to old city garbage dump?

Maybe I have too many ideas, and not enough direction. Certainly there are many books I’ve read and thought about homesteading and permaculture. I am well aware of climate crisis, the poverty all around me, the tyrants petty and elsewise that rule are government. But it seems like the only alternative to plastic is playing woke and putting your plastic in blue bin. I recycle plastic, drive an electric car to the suburbanite office building and don’t burn my trash, aren’t I so morally virtuous the smug liberal says. I just want some more nights in wilderness, listening to coyotes scream in the distance and owls hoot, as I hunch over the smoldering camp fire in snow burning wet woods as I sip on the beer and smoke some more of the joint as I watch that discarded plastic bottle melt and burn up. It is probably madness, when I could be at home, warm, not sitting in the pitch black, here in wilderness.