TRAMP

the more i make love, the more I want to make revolution. (and vice-versa)

[tinykong-deactivated20140707]

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[sparemeh]

what to do/with mah life

[sparemeh]

Welcome To The Hood

I’ve been living under the overpass at 23rd and Northgate for almost two weeks now. I’ve stumbled into a homeless man on the porch and a prostitute in the living room. I shamefully gleefully ate Taco Bell alone, twice. I’ve felt a bit more comfortable in the ‘hood the past few days, probably because I’ve been with J almost exclusively.

How safe am I, really? 

How dangerous is it, really?

I told J earlier this week that I refuse to be afraid of poor people and black people.

How naive is that statement, really?

I’m not sure. I’ve never been made to feel – and felt - so aware of my personal physical safety. I size up every black man between the ages of 15 and 60 that passes me on the street and wonder if they’ll be the one to hurt me, to rob me, to rape me. My step quickens. The hold I have on my iPhone tightens. I know some of my female friends feel this fear acutely and frequently, and not just in a seedy, crime-ridden neighborhood bordering wild wild West Oakland. I've been trying to perfect my 'I will fucking kill you if you mess with me' face, but even I know that perhaps this is not my most winning strategy. 

The house that gives me the most pause is next door. Two men are usually posted up on the stoop, as people of all ages and one race stream in and out and idle. The upside is, my housemate committed a felony when he asked and they succeeded in removing a 'boot' put on his car by the city for failing to pay ‘five or six’ outstanding parking tickets. ?

I don’t really know what to make of it. I’m obviously erring on the side of safety. Can I enjoy living in a place where I know I shouldn’t feel safe? Rent is dirt cheap. The therapy I’ll undergo if I’m the victim of a violent crime will not be.

There is a lot of razor sharp barbed wire. 

[sparemeh]

part II begins tomorrow!

[matiasbuque-deactivated20180928]

The XX - Chained

[lollinhard]

We used to be closer than this We used to be closer than this We used to get closer than this Is it something you missed?

[sparemeh]

gimme gimme

[lollinhard]

CRYING. DYING. DEAD

[sparemeh]

Lovely!! Excited.

[sparemeh]

TBag strikes again. Some footage from the two weeks we spent on the road in the South Island!

[sparemeh]

bye bye blenheim. on the road again and missin' you.

snapshots from work.

[latenighttrain]

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Beach House || Myth

[sparemeh]

Please, let me live in this moment.

[sparemeh]

Blenheim

I’m growing to love enjoy Blenheim. It is a fast-food infested shithole and among the least attractive cities in New Zealand, to be sure, but living here is also kind of like living in a college town sans class and anything resembling a responsibility other than to show up to work at 8 am the next day and with the addition of a lot of scraggly bearded foreign backpackers. Alcohol consumption is high. Everything is within walking distance. It’s impossible not to run into multiple people you know anytime you’re ‘out’. Everyone ends up at the same bar every night. Barbeques and house parties abound. There is really nothing more interesting or better to do than to hang out, and this is mutually celebrated and disdained. It’s actually… nice. And bizarre. I don’t hate it. The six weeks I’ll spend here already feel like but a brief moment in time that I will definitely not get back. In a small town on the coast of the South Island, in the middle of exactly nowhere, beer-guzzling twenty to thirty year-olds from continents far and wide attempt to fund just a few more weeks of travel in this country that I love with menial labor on farms and vineyards and in factories. Some have been here for months, but none will stay. To Blenheim. 

[nomadinchap-blog]

crush pad at Devil’s Lair by night.

[sparemeh]

I start working 12 hour night shifts next Tuesday. The madness begins! 

[sparemeh]

Courtesy of TBag. All of this was taken during the latter half of our three week road trip. 

[sparemeh]

If You'd Like to Mail Me Some Love...

Use the following address!

C/O Madeleine Key, Whitehaven Wine Company, 39 Pauls Road, Rapaura RD 3, Blenheim Marlborough 7273, New Zealand. I do not know what information goes on what line, per se.

The hostel is circumspect.

[sparemeh]

It's Back To The Backpacker

Tina and I have narrowly safely arrived in Blenheim and are beginning to make a home in our new hostel hovel. Apparently senior year is not going to be the last time I live in a Fulton Haus! Sort of apprehensive, sort of down, mostly not caring too much as it is at the most for less than two months and a whopping $110 a week. People keep throwing around the word 'family' and there is a lot of trash on the floor so I'm pretty sure I won't feel too far from home. 

[sparemeh]

Tan, happy, and so not ready to go work on Monday

[sparemeh]

Her name is Kekerengu, and we inherited her from two Germans who spent the last five months backpacking New Zealand. My first car!

Different country, same classic (obnoxious) expression.

[sparemeh]

"I am after a battle with nature, primitive and raw."

 John Fairfax, 1966

I would like to have met John Fairfax. And by met I mean