The Birth of Hobo Art

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The Halfway House

This is the tale of the halfway house, the state of being 'in limbo,' and a most welcome ending. I have lived recent months here at the halfway house, in this here village, somewhere between life and death. I didn't know what would happen next, but now I am enlightened in that regard. Now I know where I will go to from here. In limbo, this place, where I was craving some magnificent escape from. I didn't think I had it in me, at times, but Lord I tried, oh, how I tried. I had to question why such a neverending struggle. Few answers show themselves, and I weary of waiting for them also to seek me out. They rarely ever do.

Life is made up of stages and eras, and it is what we do with them, how well we cope, how they subsequently affect us. Sometimes we break and crumble and at others we stand tall and fight and take it on the chin. The safety net that catches you, the falling through the blue into lightness. Envelope me with your tenderness, save me from here, save me from my thoughts. The battle ends eventually, the fragments of images of people and memories will remain. Those who still stand and move into the light, well, soldiers of love are they.

I shall leave the halfway house behind, like so many other buildings of my past. Something else is waiting now, and who knows what. The beauty of the days is that we never really know what lies ahead. It is adventure, challenge, magic. All we can do is be the best that we can, and tirelessly face the truth. Every step brings us a little closer to death, but also a little closer to harmony, to heaven, to everlasting peace.

The Shape of a Cruel Heart

It doesn't look the same, it doesn't move like that, and it doesn't do what it should really, but who can know the compass so exactly? We are waves, washing over each other, of all different kinds. Some carry great pain, others complete bliss, and yes, there are many other emotions and sensations in between those two more extreme ones.

I never could understand, I mean yes, of course, we are all born with a set of genes and they define us to a certain extent, but why are some people so cruel? Does it really make you brighter to attempt to crush others beneath you? It makes no sense to me. For I only ever feel good when I can help others or share something warm; hurting people, washing them in waves of sadness could surely never be satisfying. We can all change, grow, learn, positively evolve and become brighter sparks than once we were, rather than arrogantly imagining ourselves to be greater than the sums of our parts. Nobody is finished just by being created, by the hand of whichever God you believe in, we are only begun.

The heart is a beautiful instrument, the most beautiful of them all, when wielded in a thoughtful and selfless manner it creates space and hope and wonder in the days that nothing else apart from the nature of this earth really can. The heart is in everything, some have just been left to go rotten. It is down to you, and you alone, how you reach people. The reach of the heart is greater than the reach of your hands, so the choices we make are what define how we love and breathe and care about every single ticking second.

Your genes are a part of you, your decisions are the rest. Open your eyes and soak up the daydreams.

To Be Misunderstood

You know what it feels like to be misunderstood. Yes, you know. All of us think differently, how could we every coincide harmoniously? It simply isn't realistic. It doesn't soften the blow that people's cruelty, insensitivity and selfishness causes on a daily basis though. Underneath this cloak, with some of the tears one must swim through, grasping on to something that isn't even clear, under here is at times odd. And poetry, do you have all the answers? Well, why does that count so much? Must we understand each other, can we not simply step back and appreciate all the madness and beauty that is a different soul, and the world around and celebrate the magnificent truth that we do not understand what it's all about?

Sweetheart, I came here to love, not necessarily to succeed at every wave of the moments that ripple through the days. Before you can understand me you must open the gates of possibility within yourself. You sit on the shelf, you see nothing from there. You claim to know a great many things, with your head buried in books and TV channels. Outside there is a world, ticking, beating, passing by your window in all puzzle like formations.  No, I don't understand you either. Of course not. Life is a mission, a beautiful tapestry and none of us will ever be able to see and understand more than just a sliver, only a fraction of it, if we are lucky.

To be misunderstood is not easy to take, but what is the real likelihood of someone, everyone, anyone being able to follow another individual's train of thought and their feelings? We should feel blessed for what we have, a wondrous infinitely-sized labyrinth. We were thrown in here and we will never get out. Not really. How could we ever get bored? Well, we just need to absorb everything with love, and take the time to grow. What we learn is another step towards understanding it all, and that is a special thing to contemplate.

Mind Games

It seems like some modern chariot race, to cross the finishing line having left your opponent in all kinds of mental knots. There is no finesse, grace, compassion towards others, it is do or die, and doing means attempting to crush the bones of all others. Is this how we must succeed in this age? It would suggest to me that success is tainted and I must eternally question how I can feel comfortable in any such victory, attained in that way. These days. I want to say they evoke mostly positive sensations, but I am afraid as an adult with wide eyes, observing the way things are built, and the way they stand, and the way they last, that I cannot proclaim such findings.

I have this vision, not quite of fields of daisies and dancing and endless joy, but of something correct, of strong morals and values, of wisdom and sight, some acceptance of the days, for limited are they, and some motivation to do and to be good, to educate and produce love that will be passed on through the ages. I know, I dream, but I somehow have to hope that the mass path will lean towards such behaviour, even if in reality the genuine route most take veers further and further away from that.

Let us use the example of the horrors of war, the colossally valuable lesson therein and how nobody actually seems to have grown gracefully from those somehow forgotten ages, and the same errors are committed over and over. In my mind, it makes them even worse than before. Humanity, such a powerful and commanding race, and yet the hurdles are all too many to overcome.

There is nothing wrong with my mind, to be frank, the problem is your perception of my mind. All these games, not really for playing. I am comfortable within these walls, upstairs, in this head. I know the strengths and weaknesses inside and I know what I want to improve, but you project your own failings upon me, and I refuse to play these games and accept your sins and lack of vision upon my already-burdened shoulders.

I believe in peace. That shall not alter, as I evolve and grow and speed toward my own death. Whether it be timely or not, I shall feel like I had maintained something from my childhood, beaten the possible corruption of the adult world and somehow steered clear of a whole minefield of games and tragedy, even if I had to know it still existed. I like games, but not the kind of which these words address.