Tonight, I am sleeping in the back of Tobias. Incrementalism. The transition happens, little by little. A scenario I envision goes something like this. Tonight, I sleep in Tobias. Another night, I may sleep in my bed again. Then I might go camping for a few days. Using an idea or two from Ran Prieur, I might start washing and shaving in the bathroom of a fast food chain. All this while remaining local to the Denver area, at least most of the time.

Eventually, the point may come when the leash has dissolved, and I wander elsewhere for a while. Having learned how to make it work here, it won't come as quite such a shock as the fantastical notion of just having everything suddenly snap. You know what happens when the cord snaps, right? It yanks you back all the harder.

I've heard it said that once you really get a taste of the road, you never really want to return. I don't completely buy that, but my hunger is strong enough to drive me to find out.

Recently, I read both Evasion and Off The Map, first person accounts which chronicle the adventures of a few who found ways of living beyond the rigid constraints prescribed by the corporate governing structure. In the publisher's notes, they are right to point out that these tales are not revolutionary. They are merely anecdotes on ways some people have found to survive on their own terms under the present system.

Though I found each book to be at the time entertaining, insightful, instructive (and in the case of Evasion, sometimes arrogent), I sense that my path will be significantly different than either of them. I consider it entirely possible that although I am making the gradual transition toward living in my car, I might not even do that much traveling. Maybe occassionally hop to another city, but stick around for a while, learn the terrain, maybe get to know some of the locals. I'm mostly just talking out of my ass, because I have no specific plan.

Right now, here I sit in the back seat, writing under a street light. My backpack is filled with enough dumpstered food to last me several days, provided none of it goes bad. Pizza, pre-wrapped cinnamon rolls, bagels, letture, potatoes (which will need to be cooked). Oh, and I almost forgot about the egges I stashed in the back of the fridge last week. All this without having to deviate significantly from the daily route I take on my bike. It's almost too easy, once you get the hang of it.

Last night, I ate the most delicious burrito. I made it myself using still warm ingredients from the Chipotle dumpster. I took it to a picnic table in a nearby park and feasted on the unique combination of chicken and steak, heavily piled with rice. While I ate, I had the brilliant business idea that somebody should open a shop that lets people make their own burritos, and put as much of whatever they want into them. No need to be limited by either/or decisions, or constrained by the proportions the employees feel like using. Throw as much as you want of whatever you want on yourself! Oh wait, that's what I had just done. Nevermind.

I am not fucking joking, people! This is not just a song we sing around the campfire. Dumpster Diving is a way of life! (Well, ok, maybe normal people sing about other things around their campfires, but at the fire where I sat last Thursday, there was music about dumpster diving. Maybe I should write a song too...)

Perhaps I should be going back to sleep, but once again, I have allowed my somatic system to drift away. I'm not even feeling tired at all right now. I may drift off to sleep sometime around sunrise.

I suppose, for the sake of completeness, I should also write something about x13, but it's almost too depressing to think about, much less write. So I guess I'll just say that if, in the near future, Bitscape's Lounge and a lot of other stuff start breaking horribly, it won't be without warning. Maybe ya'll should bookmark the livejournal version just in case. Yes, this is a server that hosts over 200 customers. Yes, I work for a madman. Maybe I'm being too pessimistic, and everything will be smooth sailing. But don't count on it.

Did I say madman? It's like the terminally insane following the terminally insane. Here I sit, blocks away from a warm cozy mattress, calling my car a bed. Eating last night's dumpstered pizza. (A whole unsliced one. Yummy.) And thinking that there might be some kind of a future in any of this.

I think of the speech by Hakim Bey I was listening to the other night. He talked about how throughout the medieval ages, despite repeated attempts at violent suppression by the Catholic Church, these same ideas kept popping up over and over. It's as if human beings -- at least some of us -- have this pathological yearning for freedom. How else could it be explained? Even now, despite threats and attempts at intimidation by the FBI, communities continue to organize, activists refuse to be silenced, protesters continue to march.

Instead of working another cushy job in a cubicle (or trying desperately to find one, like society tells me I should), I'm slowly learning how to survive on little to no money. Is it a secure path, and do I have it all worked out how I'm going to make it? Hell no. I'd rather risk death than live like a caged animal in a zoo.

On that note, I think I will lie back down for some sleep. Tomorrow, I show up at the polls to cast my vote for Mr. Miles, in an effort to reshape the Democratic Party to better reflect the interests of ordinary Americans. If Ken "republican lite" Salazar wins, it wwill be another "ho-hum, which candidate is worse?" race for the senate. Remember 2002? We don't need any more of that now, do we?

Now, my quiet chariot beckons... zzz... zzz... zzz...