5 May 2012
I think it's getting kind of hard to give a shit about it at all. saw a homeless today. he was in the forest finger painting on paper plates. naturally I walked up to him. he was humming the black keys and asked me to join him. we painted for about an hour then he led me to his area. he nailed my plate paintings and his all over the trees around us. he told me to sit and told me his life story. he told me that money made him sick and he's much happier with nothing. told me all he had was the plates he just painted and my friendship. he told me he grew weed and I could come get it whenever. how tempting, a life of nothing but simple happiness and highs. it would be so easy to live that life. to get by with the little money he got when he sold weed. I told him I wished I could live a life like his and he cried. he told me that he was here because he is a quitter, a loser, scum, a homeless piece of trash. I pat his back and told him that it's okay if he smelled a little bad. he smiled and painted a red x on my shoe. he told me if I looked down the x would remind me to look up and keep my head up. he told me I ought to go and gave me a pinky promise. I don't know what he was promising me, but i knew it was something because I felt it in me too. sure it'd be tempting to be homeless and high, but I can touch the sky. i'm too high to get a high. I'm in my element. I'm gonna prove them wrong for him. I'm gonna prove them wrong for me.
I finger painted with a hobo. NF • Opuss № I