Ixtlan

It's like the formative thing I connected myself to ... where other people have a sense of community or a belief, a pursuit ... That thing for me isn't art. I tried to make it art and comics and those things are important but I can't make them replace the original thing, which is kind of homelessness. That's not the exact word. I still only connect with certain people; those people and that life are the thing that I know. It still ties in to before it was like that anyway because I was always like that, always a mentally ill reject so those have always been the people I was... at least more able to be around than some people. I feel so stupid all the time and in front of civilized people I just flounder and can't do right and then later I'm angry at them. No matter how much I want its like I'm not able to create those projects or to do other things, because I don't have the long term focus that I need for that. I tried to escape it, but what can I do ? I felt like an impostor before (because I could’ve gone home if i wanted . But home was actually worse and more painful than outside. Not because of the family but because i was so out of place. All I’d do was drink even more and be alone.) But maybe I was really made to be a hobo all along. It’s not cool, it actually sucks, and I know that I tell people that. It's not a fun game. It’s bad, bad for me, but maybe that's the only way I'd feel right again. I'm able to do art or write or run games for people ... but I don't care enough. I can't see myself as a person who holds so much value in their own work-not that I think its bad or that I don't do what I do well- but maybe I can't make myself feel that that's a purpose for me. Being out there, the dregs of society and not following any clocks ... I know that was purposeless in fact it was an expression of faith in nihilism , that everything truly is pointless and won't make me happy . And yet I was happy, and I found friends and love in that world ... That I won't find with house people and sane people. Probably no one will love an old homeless guy but at least I wouldnt feel so out of place and so stupid . I thought after years of prison that could change but now I feel so beaten down and so alone, I cant paint because of the situation, and everything seems useless. What would be a better subject for my watercolors than the scenes of that life ? Drunk and wrapped in a tarp outside a gas station down the interstate. Maybe if you're lucky, you have a skuzzy little mama for a sleeping bag warmer. The chapparal that grows in the places you can sleep on the interstate because no one cares. The dirty, smiling faces. Not a lot of things make me feel nostalgic or tear up, but that does.

And I can't go back to that because I'm gonna be on paper for 3 years when I get out. I wish I could say to all the dirty kids, " They took this away from me " ... But I can't. They're gone forever, they've got jobs or are in prison or dead, or are still lost and incommunicado on a forever trail. Its like my hearts been cut out, you can't return to Ixalan.