The Next Time You Look At a Garbage Can...

[CrzyJay456]

i went into my friends room to use the PC. and this was on the Firefox window, from some graffiti writers Myspace page... and its pretty well written and some REAL life stuff. i was looking for it to post it here. it really made me think. oh, and there is some foul language there, im not gonna edit it out.(like 3 words)

THE NEXT TIME YOU LOOK AT A TRASHCAN
I remember the first time I saw a homeless person digging through a trash can, it was scary for me. I felt like I could feel the ground dropping away from me, like a flimsy rope bridge was falling away and the void underneath would swallow me. I lived that close to the void, being poor, and knowing it, the bottom could drop out, is never that secure, and even at a young age i knew I wasn't that far from where that homeless person was then.
Ive often felt with just a couple wrong moves that could be me, no matter how high I climb from my poor roots, just a couple of wrong moves. And when I see them, collecting, or drinking, or asking for change, I often wonder "what were their wrong moves, what were they like before this?" And I wonder will I ever get away, or do some people always dance that close to the edge, like writers, and how close was i at that moment?
I love dumpster tags, don't think they get enough credit, love it when people rock them the right way with the right handstyles, its its own type of tagging. I think all writers have hunkered next to a dumpster to catch handstyles, smelled the sweet decay of rotting trash, what we all throw away, and hit that metal with our name or crew. ALL of us, Im sure. Its the same with homeless people, once you're a writer you get this weird connection to homeless people, at least me and my crew growing up did. We used to pay them a dollar to watch street corners as we hit rooftops, or shutters in downtown LA in late night. Its like rolling around in the grime, always putting your hands in dust, and mud, and something worse, being covered in dried grass and dogs***, spilling 3 year old beer on you thats been sitting, its like you are now apart of the invisible night world and you and toothless homeless Pete are now on the same level. Its like having a pass to walk among zombies and not be eaten. Sounds crazy I know, but watch a reporter try and walk around skid row at 4:00 am, or Boyle hights, or almost anywhere, and I promise they'll flee of dodge away from that dude or lady like he was a FED or a cop. We get to walk in the secret world, Ive seen the world other people ignore or dont even notice or think to notice.
I remember the first time I realized the best way to dodge cops on late night missions. I was hitting a shutter and I saw the police car coming down the street but it was all shutter storefronts all the way down on both sides, nowhere to go. I looked around, nothing to climb, nothing to hide behind, then I noticed them for the first time, I think ever in that way. There were about 4 or so homeless people sleeping on the sidewalk against the storefronts, curled up, like momma had tucked them in or some thing. I just dropped,hit the ground, rolled around a little to dust up, then used me backpack like a pillow and just lay still.
Most people know the feeling of being sweated by the police, they do that slow drive on you, making you slow down to a ridiculous pace, starring at you like a gangster, making you feel that presence, i used to say it was the same as when sharks swim by slow and act like they dont need to hurry, because everyone knows some ones getting eaten. And most writers have even felt that mood change, that shift in the air where everything gets heavier and thicker, and even if you're hiding, or not looking, you can feel them sweating you, f**king slow swimming sharks.
As I laid on the ground, in the dirt on hard concrete, i didn't feel a thing, nothing. No hairs on my neck, no swet on my upper lip. When I heard them drive by i looked up after had gone, they didn't even slow down, and I could see them in the car talking to each other in conversation. They didn't even notice me, trained officers, not a jolt. It was because it was like I was one of them, in fact I was one of them at that moment, the invisible people.
I remember thinking "this is what its like", thinking maybe I would have a blanket also.
Ive slept in abandon houses, Ive been on the run for months, skipping from house to house, Ive even slept on the streets before, but this was different, I felt inside that this was what it felt like to LIVE on the streets, for your life. The scary part was I felt safe lying there, like I was in my home. Its a herd feeling to shake, its like once you know you cant go back, ignorance is bliss and all that bulls*** you say until something like this happens to you.
I wonder why writers are connected to the homeless by some strange thread, why so much of writer lifestyle rubs elbows with hobos and winos and crackheads, and hookers, I know its a fame game but we are out there putting up art. Risking it all to put up art that we dont have permission for, that we want the world to see. Im pretty sure Picaso didn't have to shoo baseheads away as he painted, or stop halfway through a canvas because a hobo is having a love fight with a dirty stuffed animal, but here we are, again.
So the next time you kneel down next to that dumpster, or piss on that telephone poll, or see that guy collecting cans in a garbage bag at 3:00am, you try to not think about what I said, you try not to think how close are you?
~else MSK ICR
7TH LETTER

[scuba Widow]

I always think about the situation of other people and think about what if that was me.

[Vercingetorix]

I've done pretty well in my life. Had it. Lost it. I never feel comfortable knowing, that in a single moment, I too, could lose it all. I wonder about, and even admire, those who live so close to the edge and do not fall.

[diverdad]

I think about it all the time. I feel sorry the people and i try to do what i can to help them but i feel it is never enough.