So here I am writing what will be the first words of the nanowrimo challenge a.k.a. The National November Writing Month where participants pound their keyboards for a month in order to make the specified word count. It's the middle of October so I guess I'm cheating a little but it isn't against the rules, and for too long I've been putting a lot of excuses between myself and my writing.
What I'm writing probably counts as uninspired but frankly it's the truth, and in that way constitutes the basis of a good story. I thought of a beginning to my story on the walk to the launderette, and so I'm here writing a sort of prelude to that beginning. It's after midnight, and my clothes have just been put in to the washing machine. Further, the subject of the bandana is by no means the basis of my story but it's relevant to a greater extent of the future direction my life takes. Enjoy.
I have exactly $12.63 in my bank account. I purposely left a small amount in there for possible ebay purchases of clothing, and another bandana. The bandana I'm not sure about buying. I was so sure earlier in the day that I would buy another but no that I know the consequences I am not so sure.
A good bandanna only costs a couple of dollars at the most, and what, you may ask do I want with a bandanna, if I already possess one. Well the truth is that my last one was stolen. Apparently there was some attraction to it by the down-and-outers whom I offered a place to live in my own home. But that is of lesser consequence to the items of value that were stolen.
Somehow being ripped off silly hasn't affected me as much as divulging my secret life to them does. For having done so has created complications to my continuing said life, and given me considerable concern to ramifications of choosing to.
You see, I have a secret name, or two. Ones which I divulge to strangers while keeping my every distinguishable part of my true identity from anyone's knowledge. That was until I did just that with the down-and-outers. Perhaps you're familiar with the term graffiti artist?
That's exactly what I was, and am struggling once more to keep myself from being. And the bandana? It's uses are quite basic. Keep your face hidden from cameras, and provide a little protection from dangerous air-born molecules emitted from the aerosol paint cans.
Now the penalty is something that I had a false belief about when I started up relatively recently. Yet the reality is that this law has been in place for many years since I was a teenage writer (graffiti artist).
When I first started tagging my “name”, the penalty was $500 for being in possession of spray paint, and $2000 for the act of graffiti, or criminal damage (vandalising).
Since I've been off writing since before having “guests” stay in my home, and figured after said bad experiences, including divulging a couple of my names to them; I recently have been having urges to go out writing. Now I wasn't sure what the laws were, and decided to check into it. Still $500 for carrying, but now being caught in the act carries a $26,000 fine, and a minimum of two years in jail. Yet I was still having urges to write. The only difference is that I now saw it as imperative to get something really good on the wall(s).
My first thought was to get my name up in the biggest way possible. Plenty of colour, and lots of volume. And perhaps more important (due to my lack of skill), a cool character style. I suppose I should have recognised the reality of the no-brainer situation presented me.
That is: 26000 dollars is more than I could possibly afford, and two years in jail isn't worth it but oddly enough, it's actually the penalty that motivates me to a greater extent. It's the rush of adrenalin I get by doing it and getting away with it.
Some of my reasoning drifted in to the other avenues I've derived this rush from in my life such as skate boarding, and freestyle bmx riding. I thought of the scary big dirt trails that I come across on one of my less than recent adventures, and then the skateboard I bought a while back before I sold it back to the shop for much less to buy food, and I realised that my body isn't cut out for that sort of punishment anymore.
Having damaged hip ligaments, and a shoulder that dislocates with the slightest jolts of a big sneeze aren't to be taken lightly when considering extreme sports. I have thoughts that my arm could be literally torn off after dislocating on impact. Neither is the hip a walk in the park with the constant breaking of ligaments which can never be repaired, or replaced so rendering leg movement impossible.
This makes writing appealing in a way. I can walk, and with a little (or a lot – still undecided) “luck”, I could get my thrills out of writing in the streets. Alternatively, I could carry this portable writing tool around with me, and write when ideas come to mind, taking a seat in bus sheds, or on the fence of a strangers front yard.
Not quite the same sort of fun that I've been craving though. Much more wholesome none the less, and a great site better outlook, if I were to get “caught”. Hard to see how I would get court for doing that.
I enjoy walking but nothing has really motivated me to do walking, since I've been living here – except writing, and the little things which one might do while walking for thrill mainly. That is the very delinquent, and frowned upon 'theft'.
I haven't had any urge to continue stealing. I've come to dislike thieves, after my latest encounter with those less than admirable people I let in to my home. They are worse than I have ever been. Yet I'm probably letting myself off lightly, because I wasn't one to steal from people I've known, whereas they had no issue doing so to me. And after I gave them a place to live... Worst of all, I gave them my street identity – worst mistake I made with them of all.
That alone gave me some time-delaying food for thought which led me to discover the current consequences for graffiti, and that is why I'm second-guessing myself on the point of replacing my bandanna.
-end chapter 1-
Several weeks have passed since I wrote here, and I have to say that I didn't have an easy time of it. In answer to your first question: no, I haven't done any graffiti at all, and it has nothing to do with my haven't not replaced the bandanna.
My difficulties have been with depression, and my own psychological struggles with suicidality, loneliness, depression, and wanting to be alone.
Being lonely should make me more welcoming of people into my life but for some reason I've been pushing them away. I've been ignoring calls from my friends, even ignored them while they've knocked at my front door.
While I want my life to improve I'm not sure how I can do that. And I do want to feel alive with something adrenalin pumping, I've come to realise that it isn't worth getting caught. The threat of doing two years in jail is acceptable to some writers but not me.
I just need to break out of this repetitive lifestyle of mine. I need something much more fulfilling. At least I'm learning something new with the web site I established, and I have been back to a suicide chat room that I was banned from ie, I suppose I'm there on a troll like basis. Maybe I'll go back to TAFE, or get a job.
TWO AND A BIT MONTHS LATER...
I'm officially a troll now. I guess I found something to replace tagging – although I did go out bombing just the other night. Nothing serious, just a throw up.
On some lighter news: I've been off cigarettes for over a couple of months now, and haven't even wanted one while drinking with friends who smoke. Yes, I actually have some of those. Possibly have a new friend too!
[ch.2]
So I am seated, here at Joceyly's kitchen table watching the movie 'Anonymous'. It had occurred to me to write for the sake of writing itself. That to write for the self is writing's true essence.
So I have recalled a story I begun to write, about my troubles of suicidality, and criminality namely criminal damage for sport, and excitement. It has been too long since my last installment.
Well I am writing to you today on the matter of graffiti. I have yet to write further, although I have come close to doing so, I've put it off out of fear of arrest,Since that was a few weeks ago; I'm not surprised that I've and considerations of conspiracy to induce my re offending.
Tracy is no longer a friend of mine. She wasn't a friend, and was too stupid to get the better of me. Another, older friend of mine stayed over whom I was going to go out bombing with. I was a little too tired at the agreed ncountered greater interest in bombing since. But with my last advance payment from Centrelink I bought a camera. I'd like to funnel my interests into something more wholesome in nature.
As experience would have it, I've had an interest in photography, since my time as forum admin, of a community for people with autism spectrum disorders.
I'm currently planning a trip to the zoo, and possibly even the aquarium. Another time, when I can afford to do so, to take photos with the intention of building a portfolio, perhaps for enrollment into a photography course.
On to my interests with suicide. I've been tunneling into a forum concerning itself with people of suicidal tendencies. Although I still think about doing it, I've been less depressed lately, and have found other interests outside those of discrediting the forum's administration, and moderators.
These include concerning myself with anonymous operations on the internet. I'm finding more like minded people who are concerned about similar problems albeit differentiated by political upheavel – as my interests lie outside of the government but alas I should be more focused on our governmental leaders, in such similar interests.
I've been out bombing a few times since my last installment, and I've reached a decision of whether to continue bombing. I'm going to get rid of all my cans. Two years isn't worth it to me. I just don't get that much enjoyment out of it. Also I've been leaning toward doing something more substantial with myself.
Lately I've been waking up with thoughts of going to TAFE, or doing something at UNI. I'm still unsure about what that should be but over the past couple of weeks, I've been considering going back to do professional writing and editing. If not, maybe something “similar” such as philosophy.
Throughout the past week, my interest in reading has been rekindled by my expression of interest in the writing and editing course to Jocelyn. And in writing, as is evident in my writing now, that interest has been reawakened.
I want to write some short stories for a portfolio – an admission requirement to the course. I would have one already, if it weren't for my writing being stolen. As it was on an external hard drive that went missing, amongst the other devices, and clothing during a time I had people staying here.
More news yet – I've just made a date with a local girl from Castlemaine, Nateace, “Teace” Norden. No date has been set but she's agreed to go out on a date with me. It's cool, because I liked my first impression of her.
She was with a woman whom my Mum introduced me to as a friend, and her daughter. Teace has speech difficulties which I could relate to. She seemed to have so much to say but wasn't able to vocalise what was on her mind. She at once seemed intelligent, frustrated, and excited. I got the impression she liked me.
Did I mention that she got with a guy the following day? I found out via her facebook profile. “Yes”, she said, ...”we can still go out, as mates”.
I didn't tag after this, and tonight I threw away all my writing instruments. Cans of paint. I'm finally free of the burden their possession carries. I'll never write again, except for legitimate writing. Such as that which is called writing except for the illegal type of tagging, and bombing.
[ch.3]
Some time has passed, since I threw away my cans, and since I first began this journal a year ago, I've come to realise some of my goals. Let me begin how I began a year ago...
It's late October, and nanowrimo is soon to begin. I didn't manage to get into it last year but this year will be different. I'm not sure whether I should use my journal, or live out a sort of fantasy through fiction writing. I was even considering writing a choose your own adventure type of book titled Crime-Spree, or Career Criminal. I'm adding to what I've written in my graffiti journals, for the time being so I have some coherence to my previous additions.
So I made a new friend at the chess club. I hadn't been bombing for some time, and had no plans of doing so again in the near future but because he expressed an interest in it I decided to take him out on the town. He brought a friend.
I suppose I thought I could trust him more than reality had proven. He's since tried making more such nights happen with yet other friends of his, the sort of friends who get you in to trouble, the same friends he had stopped associating with for that very reason; friends he only just recently decided to allow back into his life. The sort of friends I could do without. Not because of their behaviour, as much as it's their immaturity. My new friend is proving to be close to their maturity level himself.
He still lives at home, like his friends, so maybe I should cut them some slack. I think I've just grown up too much to be able to relate the way I once would have. I've stuck to my guns, though – I haven't participated since that one off time of showing him what bombing's about. Although, I have since bought more paint expecting to (at his request), and with the promise of being remunerated (which he did). I now have one can of orange paint in my kitchen cupboard that will most likely go unused.
John returned with Shaun the other night. They wanted to go out bombing together. I maintained that I was through with it, and managed to sell the can of orange paint to Shaun, and gave him my new bandanna. They will ask me again but I wont be interested in doing it again, at least with them. I'm better off doing it alone, if I do, and I'll only do it if there is some sort of necessity.
