#gutter punks

[popoaniani]

There's no stronger wind than the one that blows down a lonesome railroad line. No prettier sight than lookin back at a town you left behind. - Townes Van Zandt

[hierophant4]

[thepunksink]

Two punk kids eating stall tacos in the middle of the desert while trying to bitch a ride.

I loved this one, sorry the doodles messy tho still getting the hang of my new fountain pen

[fvckfvced]

Progression. This was the essence of my youth, proof that anything can change. Depression isn't everlasting.

[theliterateape]

Slothy's Day Out

By David Himmel

SLOTHY IS A SLOTH.

 He is Harry’s best friend. Everywhere Harry goes, Slothy goes.

 To Gramma’s house. To the park (though Slothy stays in the stroller while Harry plays on the slide). To the taco shop where Daddy gets his lunch.

Slothy has been a good friend to Harry. He’s always been there to play with and comfort Harry. Slothy has always had Harry’s back. He was Harry’s biggest cheerleader when Harry was learning to walk. Because a walking Harry meant Slothy could have more adventures.

 And Slothy LOVED adventures!

Harry was an outside kid. He always wanted to go on walks in the stroller or hold the leash of his dog, Molly, or go shopping with Mommy and Daddy or get cheeseburgers with Gramma. (Harry’s family are real big fans of greasy food.) Harry also liked going on bus rides. Often, Daddy and Harry would ride the bus just for fun. Up and down the line. Back and forth with no destination. Of course, Slothy went, too.

One day, while on walk to get tacos with Daddy and play at the park, Harry got excited by a passing bus as he, Daddy, and Slothy waited to cross the street.

“Bus!” Harry shouted as he throw his arms out letting go of Daddy’s hand and Slothy. Slothy fell to the ground, and the light turned green. Daddy took Harry’s hand and they crossed the street. Harry’s full attention was on the bus that was driving away.

With all the excitement of crossing the street and watching the bus, Harry forgot all about Slothy.

But Slothy didn’t forget about Harry.

 He lay there on the sidewalk watching his best friend and his best friend’s dad who always smells tacos walk away.

At first, Slothy was scared. He had never been anywhere without Harry before. He thought Harry and Daddy would turn right around and pick him up. But they didn’t. They kept walking.

A few minutes later, a nice woman with dreadlocks and tattoos on her face came by walking her dog. They both smelled like garbage. The dog stopped and sniffed Slothy. The woman tried to keep walking but the dog wouldn’t let her. She turned to see what he was sniffing.

“What a funny looking sloth,” the woman said to her dog as she exhaled a plume of vapor from her vape pen. The dog picked up Slothy in its mouth, gently, and wagged its tail excitedly. “Do you want this toy?” the gutter punk asked her gutter pet. And off they went.

Slothy had never been in a dog’s mouth before. Even Molly knew not chew on Slothy. At first he was scared. But he quickly realized he was on an adventure! “Maybe they’ll bring me back to Harry!” Slothy thought.

But they didn’t. They walked past the park where Harry and Daddy were playing, past the taco shop, and under the train tracks where they met up with several other dreadlocked, vapers who smelled like garbage. There were other dogs there, too. And when the woman’s dog saw these other dogs, he dropped Slothy.

The gutter punks sat a while before the police came to break up their harmless party. They left Slothy behind. So did the police.

Night came. Slothy was really scared, but tried to stay positive. “Harry will come back for me. He’ll find me. This is just an adventure,” Slothy told himself.

A while later, a man came through the ally under the tracks pushing his shopping cart full of, well, just about everything you can think of. Blankets, bottles, cans, coats, children’s rainboots, an old clock radio, an empty box of condoms, a carton of cigarettes, and a faded I’m With Her yard sign. The man was a collector. He saw Slothy laying there on the ground and picked him up then placed him neatly in his shopping cart pile of stuff.

And off they went. They walked for what felt to Slothy like miles to a small tent city underneath the highway. The collector parked his cart, pulled Slothy and a blanket out, and ducked into a ragged tent. The collector curled up to sleep keeping Slothy close just like Harry did at bedtime.

But Slothy didn’t sleep. He stayed awake all night thinking about Harry. Worrying about him. Would Harry be okay without him? Why hadn’t he and Daddy come find him? “Well, at least I’m on an adventure,” Slothy said to himself.

In the morning, the collector packed the blanket and Slothy back into the shopping cart, and they headed out to roam the streets.

Not long after the walk began, the collector got into a fight with another collector. This one was much bigger and he pushed over the first collector’s shopping cart. All of the stuff spilled out onto the street including Slothy. The first collector shoveled what he could back into his cart, picked it up and ran away. The other collector left, too. Slothy was, again, alone on the sidewalk.

It began raining. Slothy was soaked into the concrete until a huge splash from a truck speeding by washed him into the street. He floated down toward the sewer—past litter and twigs and rat skulls and pacifiers.

“Oh, Harry, where are you!?” Slothy called out as he became lodged between the sewer grates.

Immediately after he said the words, he heard his name.

“Slothy!” It was Daddy out for a run. Daddy stopped, bent over and looked at the very dirty, but very relieved Slothy. “What happened to you? How did you get here? We’ve been worried sick!” Daddy said. “Harry will be so, so happy to see you.”

Daddy carefully picked Slothy up using just two fingers and together, they ran home as fast as Daddy could go. When they got through the door of Harry’s home, Daddy called out, “I found Slothy!”

“What!?” Harry’s mommy said. “Where did you find him?”

“In a sewer grate a few blocks away.”

Mommy came to look at Slothy who was filthy. “Oh, my! That’s disgusting! Put him in the wash!”

“Ew. I know. But first… Hey, Harry…” Harry was watching Sesame Street so he wasn’t paying attention to the commotion at the door.

“He’s had a hard day without Slothy,” Mommy said. “I think he drove himself crazy with guilt and worry and now he’s—” She pointed to her head as she shook it with an expression that said, “Nope. This thing ain’t workin’.”

“Harry,” Daddy said again as he paused the TV. “Look who we found.”

He held the filthy Slothy up for Harry to see.

“Slothy!” Harry exclaimed. “My Slothy!” The young boy wept tears of joy and relief as he ran to take hold of his best friend.

“Oh, Harry!” Slothy said, sharing his relief.

“Not yet, Harry,” Daddy said, pulling the filthy, wet sloth toy away. “Slothy needs a bath. Let’s wash him in the laundry and then he’ll be ready to play with you.”

It was bedtime by the time Slothy was all clean and dry. Daddy brought Slothy to Harry and the three of them went into Harry’s room to read a few books before Daddy tucked Harry and Slothy into bed.

“I love Slothy so much,” Harry said, giving his best friend a great big hug.

“I know you do,” said Daddy. “I’m so happy we found him.”

“So happy we found him,” Harry repeated with confirmation.

In the morning, when Harry woke up, Slothy was dead. He had caught COVID-19. That’s what happens when you sleep under the highway with strangers and don’t wear a mask.

[lostlifeforever]

Slab city madness

[farmer-v]

One of my new favorite quotes comes from Bill Mollison, the co-founder of Permaculture. It draws on an idea I have long pondered and tried to explain to people: that one cannot revolt against a system that they wholly depend on. 

My best example of what I mean by this comes from my own experience in the traveling underworld of modern hobos, squatters, gutter punks, hitchhikers, train riders and the like… While there is a massive diversity of backgrounds and upbringings amongst my traveling friends, I think I can reasonably conclude that most of us felt somehow abandoned by a society that we didn’t want to be a part of in the first place. This is what led us (or in some cases, forced us) to hit the road and seek an unconventional lifestyle of freedom, revolt, anarchy, recklessness, spontaneity, or what ever you would like to call it. Aside from the complex social, psychological, physical, or economic issues that determine one’s entry into this “subculture”, most folks share a generally anti-establishment viewpoint. In hindsight, I have realized that none of us, myself included, were anywhere close to attaining true freedom while living this way. We were “revolting” (through our lifestyle decisions) against the very system that provided us all of our food, drink, clothing, transportation, money, and other necessities/desires. You cannot claim to be against massive corporations if you give them your money every day when buying their products. You cannot claim to be against the corruption in government if you live off their aid or don’t vote in elections. The list goes on. You cannot claim to be making a difference if you aren’t doing anything.  

Needless to say, at that point in my life I felt more dependent on “the establishment” than ever before. Thus I began my quest toward self-sufficiency. I have found that true freedom is growing your own food, building your own home, producing your own energy, brewing your own beer, collecting your own rainwater, utilizing and respecting free ecosystem services, cultivating the land, making your own living, and working toward independency while mimicking natural ecosystems as much as possible. As we would always say on the road, "don’t just talk about, BE about it”, so here we are actually executing our plans (finally). Anyhow, the whole point of this post is that Mollison puts this idea into words much more eloquently and concisely than I have been able to…

“The greatest change we need to make is from consumption to production, even if on a small scale, in our own gardens. If only 10% of us do this, there is enough for everyone. Hence the futility of revolutionaries who have no gardens, who depend on the very system they attack, and who produce words and bullets, not food and shelter.” -Bill Mollison 

[portlandia]

You don’t have to go work tomorrow!