In September 2013 I happily and freely became homeless. This decision was the culmination of:
- a life-long dissatisfaction with being another cog in the machine
- a burning, insatiable wanderlust
- the realisation that there are two ways to be wealthy: have a lot of money; or not have the need for a lot of money.
I chose the latter by choosing to live in a van full time. Although I became homeless by choice, it must be acknowledged that in this country where society is geared towards the economy, and not the other way around, it wasn’t really a choice.
Last year I painted one picture and wrote two new stories. What right do I have to call myself an artist and writer when I don’t dedicate time to my craft? More accurately I should have described myself as a worker, a tax-payer, a rent-payer, undertowed by the pull to make more money for the mega machine that does not care about my happiness.
As somebody very wise once said, ‘Work is the blackmail of survival’. In a society that does not value dreamers and artists and playful spontenaity, it is impossible to thrive spiritually, to dedicate energy to relationships and to live an authentic life when the better part of our waking lives are dedicated to keeping our already-drowning economy afloat.
Furthermore, as a Dharug woman, it’s more in line with my ethics that I do not pay money to the profiteers of dispossession, to occupy stolen lands.
My first home purchase is known as the Caravan of Doom, and so far it’s been a hoot. No more paying hard-earned rent for dead-eyed landlords who profit from stolen lands, to occupy shitty spaces that I’ll never own anyway. Therefore, I don’t need to work as much. A happy side effect is I have more time to write, paint and stare at the clouds. The whole world is my backyard and playground. I meet interesting people and I have the time to just be me and just be free. I get to be alone and wander around my country a lot.
In the Hobo Pro Tips category, you will find a practical guide of how to be the best Road Warrior you can be.
I am currently transcribing my journals so that I can write Part II of my memoirs: White Drugs and Black Metal: The Early Years.* In the Chronicles category you will find bits and pieces from my life. Some are funny, some are angry, some are morbid; but all stories are true (enough).
“Went to the gig at the Hard Rock last night, Dreamkillers were fucken sick. The acid made me believe that I was headbanging too hard; chunks of dandruff were flying from my head with such force that the crowd was bleeding. Lies! At the end I walked to the car with Brother Bill and I felt the rain like the salty spray of semen across my face.”
– Journal entry, 09.10.08
*I may or may not be serious.