note: check out the “usless factoids” page to see the “totals” on my progress back in 06.

Where am I?

I’m not in Colombia.  I’m not in South America.  I’m not “on the road”, I’m not in jail, I’m not in bed, and I’m certainly not in a jailbed…I’m…

broke, penniless, destitute, hard up,

cashless, financially embarrassed, poor,

empty-handed, fortuneless, in a pinch,

greenback-reduced, stone cold, flat-out destitute,

tapped, beggarly, bankrupt, hamilton-free,

moneyless, needy, pauperized, and

truly, contemptably unprosperous,

strapped, down-and-out, out-and-down,

impoverished, monetarily suffering, indigent, in want,

and my two favorite: penurious and impecunious

(nothing worse than being impecunious in this life…except for unhappiness)

So now I’m back In the Northwestern hemisphere of Planet Earth, on the North American tectonic plate, in the States, the U. S. of A. the Big Daddy, the Powerhouse, the home of the “Decider”, the land of fear and suspicion, and aggressiveness, the birthing grounds of swelling, hypocritical christian fundamentalism, stark-raving consumerism, great coffee and decent-pay-if-you-come-from-the-right-ethno/social/economic slice ‘o’ the pie. The great state (beaver) of Oregon, Portland (stumptown) to be exact, on the soil of an ancient flood plain of the Willamette River, Old Town to be exacter, in a condo (ah yes, 37 and livin’ on the parent’s dime, in their crib), 6th floor to be exacterer, at a desk, in a chair, in front of a laptop set in a nook facing east (toward mecca but not to pray to nothin’) to be exactest.

I’m in 2007, february 21st, 9:00 pm on the dot, pacific time.  Colombia disappeared in billowing kerosene jet fuel fumes on the 3rd of January, and portland knocked me to my senses at 12:01a.m. on the 4th, started substitute teaching at Lakeridge High School on the 5th, will be “turning these hands to labor”, (hopefully), saving money (hopefully), until August (hopefully), or maybe September, or maybe later (let’s hope not) if I don’t round up enough cash (may the ”dinero” gods be kind to me)

I’m in a good place.  I’m “home”, I’m comfortable, I’m back from a tough emotional year.  I’m content.  I’m inspired. I’m seeing friends, chilling with family, meeting new people, and not-so-new people, and totally-run-down people, I’m alone and together and out and about and around, through, I’m near and distant, I’m reading and writing, and picturing, and talking, and planning, and sleeping, and eating (alot) and drinking (perhaps too much) and visiting and dancing and musicking, and making and watching, and wondering, and appreciating, and being.

I’m scheming, dreaming, but never demeaning.  I’m a bad self-promoter but love to talk about who I am and what I do, I’m a walking contradiction; active but with a tremendous capacity for sloth, generous but miserly, to some whom I’ve hurt I’m a monster to others a kind helper, I’m confident but riddled with self-doubt, at times lucid at times fogbound, healthy but not…searching but happy where I am. 

Why am I where I am?  Because I need money so I can keep walking, so I can tie these two continents together with my footsteps, sew up the highways and byways of this land and that, and throw my arms in the air and my knees to the ground when I reach that Northernmost northerness of the Northlands so I can say “I’ve done it”, so I can KNOW (what that might be who knows now), so I can complete a dream I’ve dreamt for so long, so I can… so I just CAN.

Have I quit?  No.  Will I quit?  No.  Is this quitting?  No.  Will I go back?  Damn straight!  Is this gig still ON?  Hells yeah!  Will I keep posting on this site…let me answer that with some rhetoricals: Are bears Catholic?  Does the Pope shit in the woods?!  (isn’t that how those go?)  Was this an AWESOME year of walking?  Can I get a HALLELUJAH?!?!

And that’s where I am.

Right now

but watch out

because this nomad is never where he is for long.