Crosswalks

I’ve been sober now for about six days. Do you know the best cure for an alcoholic? No money. I can identify with all of the homeless people around here where I live. Hopelessness precedes homelessness. Sobriety is hard when there are so few things around which one can find to ease the pain. I’m in good shape myself, I know that I always have someone to go to, family members who will always take me in, no matter how much I’ve mistreated them. By mistreatment I mean, mostly, ignored. I haven’t given my family the attention they deserve. Throughout my adult life I’ve shown very little care towards my family. I’d go months at a time, I still do, without talking to any family, even though they care deeply for me, and I them--though I give little to no indication of care from my end. I’m so wrapped up in myself, trying to make sense of all the strange things around me.

So, I was hesitant to say where I live, but if I do, then what I want to convey will be more effectively transferred. Details, the gory ones most notably, although where I live is not a detail which is gory, the details, though, give life to a story. This is not something that I’ve truly understood, even as someone who enjoys writing, until just recently. I didn’t realize how important details are to writing until I really started trying to write something which is meaningful, from the heart. The heart, which is really the mind, as far as it “feels”, reacts to details.

I always thought that funny, the phrase “from the heart”. I wonder where that came from. I’ve used the phrase too, obviously. It conveys something useful I guess, although the heart doesn’t feel, aside, I guess, feelings which might be described as “beating” or “pumping”. But, even then, is it the heart which feels these things, or is it still the mind? Feelings, the whole idea that we have “feelings”, I think--due to the fact that feelings themselves are an idea--this means all feelings must come from the mind, the brain's electrical impulses. They come from the origin of our consciousness actually, wherever that is--no one knows; god, whatever. So to say that something is “from the heart”, like a gesture or a feeling, although technically inaccurate, I’m ok with it, it's just a way to communicate a shared idea.

I think I’ve decided to start a blog (you're reading it now), which will be “from the heart” in a sense, but, I’d prefer to say it is from my consciousness, my mind, an escape of trapped feelings, of my thoughts which have trampled over my existence. Release for my thoughts will save me, maybe, as I’ve said before. I posted a bit of what I have to say on my favorite website and I was encouraged by a couple of people who said they would enjoy reading more of what I have to say--that’s all it took for me to decide to continue on.

So on my way to the library today, where I am now, I took some pictures of the beautiful crosswalks (yes, crosswalks) which are here around Miami Beach, the place I’ve lived for the past two months. The construction of these crosswalks is quite the undertaking compared to the the usual method which uses just a durable paint over the existing pavement. I do a lot of walking around here, and the installation of these new crosswalks across the city is an ongoing process.

(Quickly, let me explain something about Miami Beach, for those who are unfamiliar with the area. Miami Beach is not just a beach, not just a sandy stretch connected to an ocean, no, Miami Beach is a city, officially, separate from the city of Miami. It’s a city on an island which is east of the city of Miami. I didn’t understand this until I came here.)

So, as I’ve watched the installation of these crosswalks, I’ve seen most stages of the process at one point or another. A depth of at least a couple feet of old pavement and road bed is first hammered out over a width of probably 6 to 10 feet, from sidewalk corner to sidewalk corner. In other words, these crosswalks have the same surface area as any ol’ crosswalk, but the road is first torn out several feet below that surface. A foundation of concrete is carefully poured within the hole to a height which comes just short of the surface of the surrounding road, leaving just enough depth on top to place alternating stripes of black and white brick which are painstakingly laid one by one to form the surface of the crosswalk. I’ll try to include the picture of it if I can. These are fairly skilled workers who do this and they do a great job it seems. The process, from start to finish, I’ve estimated, takes anywhere from three to five days per crosswalk and I’d be sincerely surprised if the cost is not upwards of $10,000 for each one.

These crosswalks disgust me. I mean they really make me sick to my stomach. What was the process which led to such a waste of resources? For a damn crosswalk? All of this for a damn crosswalk? Some people might see this manipulation of the ground, which is to be walked over and driven upon, as a “beautification” of the city, and it may be, but most will not even notice it at all. But, really, that doesn’t matter; imagine all of this money, these millions of dollars, spent on this shallow “beautification” project, and imagine the alternatives. This money, these resources, could have been used to actually help people in need, it could have been used to aid all of the homeless people who roam these streets, or better yet, this money could have been left to the people who earned it.

How about all of the people in the service industry around here, most of them struggling financially as they work to give something of value to the primary spenders in Miami Beach--the tourists. What about them? The workers? Why not let them keep more of their wage and tips instead of building road art which is simply a monument in the name of some city planner or council member who is deluded with pride at what they have done, with the money of those who toiled. I know that there are no income taxes paid directly to the city from its people in the service industry, but they do pay for it in a roundabout way. I am grief stricken by these sorts of acts, that people would treat one another in this way. And this grief plagues me everywhere I look, it surrounds me in every part of my life. It’s hard to sleep sometimes when so much is taken so forcefully, so carelessly, from so many.

As I debase the crosswalks, you may be wondering what I’m doing in a public library. Well, this is the best place I know to write in comfortable peace. I used the crosswalks on my way here, too; I walked all over them. At least the library is a help to some poor people, although it’s a "gift" from a state which has first trampled over the poor. I use the roads, too, and the sidewalks, and the post office, and I used federal aid money when I went to school. The alternative of not using these “gifts” of the state is to live in a hole, which, admittedly, I have considered. These “gifts” of the state are not gifts actually, they are a trap, an illusion, a diabolical game played by authority, and those who are not authority always lose. Once one relies upon such things, once such “government” expenditures become a part of everyday life, it is difficult for most to imagine an alternative.

The presence of a thing is acknowledged, the source of it is labeled “government”, and the mind, the average mind of those who enjoy going about their ways without much thought, they think that without the accredited source of these things (that source being “government”), then the things which they see and use would not exist--the roads would not be there and neither would the schools, healthcare, retirement, and all the rest which is attributed to “government”. Hogwash! Absurd! This is the trap you have fallen into, that the force of “government” is required for the everyday things we need, want, and rely upon.

You may wonder why I place “government” in quotation marks. This is because government is a very abstract concept, it’s hard to define. A synonym for the “government” which I am placing within quotation marks is “violence”--the two, in the context above, are the same. The government which we talk about in everyday language, the one which is often preceded by words such as “state”, “federal”, “city”, “county”, is the government which I am referring to when I place “government” in quotation marks.

It is important to make this distinction, because government is not always bad. In fact, government is essential if we are to live with one another. The good government I am talking about is self government--we must govern ourselves if we’d like to be righteous and peaceful and we must make every effort not to govern others unless there is direct and specific consent from the governed. And the place of one’s birth, or his present geographic location, does nothing to establish consent to be governed. Listen to some Lysander Spooner for Pete’s sake! He does a poetic justice to this principle.

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I hope Blackie cleans up the kitchen before I return home. There is literally food all over the floor and counters from when she cooked two nights ago. A big pool of honey lays over the floor, stickily, where the open bottle spilled over. I’m wondering what she is thinking leaving such a pig sty. Does she expect me to clean it up? Should I clean it up because she has been so kind and giving? If she thinks so, she should say it. I didn’t eat any of the food which she made when she created the mess--she brought it to her friends at Bible study--although she does feed me sometimes. Considering the friendship she has shown me and her generosity, I don’t mind doing some of her dishes, etc, but this is a dramatic mess I’m talking about here, like the scene left over from a food fight, worse than you can imagine. I have to tiptoe into the kitchen if I want to use the sink or get something from the fridge, and forget about using any dishes, the few we have are caked with dried up food.

I think I’m getting tired of writing now. I had a ton of things in my head when I woke up this morning, but I recorded very few of them here. I can’t write fast enough. If I could write as fast as I had my thoughts then I would have had a book written this morning before I reached the library.

It’s windy outside, the palm trees are blowing. The palm trees here look just the way you’d like palm trees to look. I’m going for a walk.

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It was cold in the library. I’m outside in the park now, lots of strange sculptures here, I like them, but still, they are monuments which represent a violent confiscation from the taxpayer, at least I assume that was how they were paid for. Am I dwelling on that too much?

I’m feeling pretty uneasy now. I don’t know what I’ll do, I might have a new job soon, it is through one of Blackie’s friends, she forms connections quickly. She’s very ambitious, Blackie, she has big dreams, and I don’t doubt that she’ll do what she has set out for. She is a good influence upon me. Sometimes I have some resentment for her excitement and happiness when I'm down and out, although there are plenty of times when she is down too, and then I want her to be happier. When she is down I worry that it is my own stoicism and gloominess which has put her that way, but she has her own personal sources for emotional struggles, too.

She is going to be a partner in business with one of her idols in the tourism industry who she calls, mysteriously, "the entrepreneur"--she loves to travel. One of the other partners in this new business venture which she has joined was an official, some kind of liaison to China, in the last Bush administration. Blackie went on about how impressive this person was last night, all of the accomplishments and accolades this official had collected, etc. Blackie was so excited because this new business which she is entering is related to China and this official, with these connections in big business and big government, is going to be able to do great things to propel this new venture.

I had a grimace on my face as she described the situation to me last night. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I thought that the ability of some to gain favors over others in this way, as a result of the collusion of government and business, is a major problem in our society. Blackie went on more about how impressive this former official was, with awards and certificates and “honors” from “government” and such, plastered all over the official’s office wall. If I had been in Blackie’s situation I would have had a queasy feeling as I looked at the advantage this person had been willing to take over others, just because, in her official capacity, she was able to form powerful connections with those who have even more powerful connections. The problem I have is the power itself--that one person is able to hold such power, power which has its roots, not in peaceful exchange, but in the violence of those who call themselves authorities. This kind of power is everywhere, it is pervasive, and it disturbs me that there is so much pride and envy which surrounds it. I don’t think it will stop until it comes crumbling down from the large weight of the fat egos which feed above such weak foundations of morality.

My immoral behavior is seen best in the way I’ve treated my family, the way I have been so absent, so involved in searching my mind for my own way, searching for truth and reality, while I ignore all else.

I’m listening to classical music, Pandora’s Beethoven station, on my phone with my earbuds in as I sit on a bench looking over the park. There is a little girl in the distance, probably about 6 years old dancing happily over one of the sculptures that sits in the grass. She seems to be dancing to my music, quickening her steps along with the pace of my symphony, even though she can’t hear it. How beautiful, divine.

I think I want kids one day. I want them to make the world better, my future kids. I know they will. I get emotional thinking about children in the future, what kind of world they might live in. Will it be sad and tragic, the future, or will it be greater than our present bind? It’s up to me, partially, and you too. It hurts me that people so underestimate the influence they may have over existence. I’m not an exception, I’m more an example of the “I can’t do anything” crowd. This needs to stop, hence my trying to express my feelings regarding it. Each action you take matters. Advance yourself as you give no harm to others and the world becomes better because you are a part of the world, not apart from it. I haven’t done this very well myself and hope I can do better.

There are so many skateboarders in Miami Beach, it's a legitimate form of transportation here. I thought that skateboarding, the really widespread popularity of it anyhow, ended in the '80s. I realized that it was still a hipster type of thing to do, if hipster is the right word, I'm not up on the lingo. I knew that there were still plenty of "skaters", but here it is just your average everyday person riding a skateboard, on their way to work, running an errand, getting some exercise, whatever. And, ya know, there is nothing hotter than a hot girl riding a skateboard I realized, and there are plenty of them here. You haven't seen hot until you've seen this. And, again, I'm not talking skater chicks here; imagine the hottest girl you can think of, wearing the hottest thing you can imagine, and then picture her riding effortlessly and elegantly down the sidewalk, sunglasses on, amongst the warm sun and palm trees, hair blowing in the wind. It's a sight to behold.

I feel like I'm writing too much and haven't even began to say what I'd like about the past, present, and future--my own and everyone else's. At this point I mostly want to return to my past, to think it over, to describe it to myself, to bring it out of confusion. I don't think anyone will read my blog. It's too long.

I'm going to go see if Blackie has cleaned up the kitchen.