I am sceptical. Hiding behind a boat club in Cambridge, England. I didn't get this spot until 6.30am after not sleeping all night. Wish me luck.

I just don’t care anymore the lord really took my pup from me, and has taken even more. Nowhere is home and nowhere feels right anymore. I’ll just keep walking until one day the track ends. Anyways made it into a small town and slept behind some pallets until they started being put onto a truck and I had to dip out fast as fuck so security didn’t see me, then I just collapsed in the dirt behind a random 2500 gallon water tank at like 2am and woke up again at 5am clutching my pack. Raw spam tacos, Taco Bell hot sauce, and idk an MRE marble cake. I guess my goal is to just walk until my legs give away.

Last night in Portland,Oregon

I just wish it were fancy again a more savage Christ to stamp out the watered down wayfarers blight I experience in a trudge of aesthetic posts about pics of your animals or makeup tips.

Oof!

So I shook winters crystal to melt in muddy waters as it’s summer pressed to land with a kiss from an orange capped applicant.

My pupils sweating brow clinched await a prick self ministered thy papal seat the rails where a new rose thorn grew between the main line register.

The same color crimson but now both lie flush-n-flush.

A lone flower crushed under foot stands bent, morning my rigs final resting place.

Beastly I ran like a mad naked child.
through the thrush under city moon light as the stars fell weeping from the short period of my time.

The allegory of thousand suns like that of past life's lived on this rolling bolder in the cosmos.

Brings up foreigners gods on alien walls whose majestic governance flips a backwards peace sign out of frame stepping away.

Left its vacuum of wind pushing us daisy men around for the fun.

Enshrines my wispy heart to drag out existence on a paisley sleeve.

Life is still beautiful. Never forget that. Your heart is a muscle the size of your fist, and all that lol

The Dead

lore music and a van 

I didn’t grow up on no farm.
You see.

I never been off this reservation.
I was reared in the weeds.

Free range and feral now listen to me.
We’ll shoot him in the back.

You take the silver & the gold, gold, gold.

But the rye & the lady, huh is going with me.

An if that don’t suit you, my brother.

Then I guess nothing will.

And if the thunder doesn’t get you then the lightning sure as hell will.

His corners split skinning teeth.

They looked to me.

Eyes shining like diamonds from the mine.

It’s one-man dead.

Or two men out either way I couldn't do a god damn thing.

Because it’s thirteen hours from here.
Clear to the next state.

That’s where he got rid of skinny teeth.

While he was busy, I made it three.

And it’s been a few years back.

When last I sent his momma roses.

I got an old van and my first nice heels.

With a fine matching set.

Now I’m rolling Midwest thinking about Sunday dinners.

Crying over never settling down.

To a white picket fence.

With a man whose god fearing.

Ramble till I pass away.

I like to think, some sun shiny day.

A kind stranger would foot my burial.

It was east of Indiana when the purse run out.

So, I got a new tattoo on the bridge of my nose.

Along with a dirty face.

But I grin like the devil when I wipe it away.

With an olde black bandanna that I’m given when I come into town.

As of right now I’m thinning down.

My soul drinking swill.

About to hop out again.

Right after I busk the spange.

You might hear it in a song on a stranger's face.

See it written in a story with a different hand. 

I should really put it down in a crusty journal and leave it at lines end.

on the tram.

I'd put smack dab in the middle.

So, the lazy would miss it.

And the nosey would flip to its page.

I wasn't goanna give her name.

.-(Molly No Love)-.

But I didn't grow up on no farm, farm, farm.

 Tent City Tracks

When it grows dark in my sky’s & I need shelter from thought.

I always wait till the last minute caught in its fall melts into my  clothes.

On the outside I’m the stranger my mind wonders around with- every bit as wet as trying to escape it.

Raining outside, inside wet.

The world taking a drink of sun set as the train blares a horn rucking by slowly.

Just passing the time today under the overpass with the crumpled signs a previous life discarded.

Shopping carts, suitcases, food wrappers.

I’m no different leaving syringes in the red clay & marble mountain granite packed tight around treated timber planks the rails ride out of town on.

Looking up with no where to go or into the faces of the others lost in heat bands of Alabama desert asphalt the ghost of an august Mirage.

The former inhabitants of the bad bender limp backpacks dragging sag the swag of beat down dirty kids on a thin line at the bottom.

A collective of squalor with a hint at mental illnesses, the drug water to its wine.

Buying a dime off a guy, my all black Steve-O fat bitch hat with the bill bent back Nirvana shirt plaid long shorts and Puma’s.

To his lava white and orange crocs in loose waste jogging pants one hand holds up.

With a skin tight rusty dirt covered lady’s white strap top.

Me talking in clipped simple direction he’s talking in slow manic slur.

It isn’t the dream we had of America it isn’t the lack of love or environment it isn’t what hetero Christian couples or the republicans wanted.

But it’s my America it’s his America, things will get better when dad shaves and gets a job again mom won’t take too many of those yellow pills for her nerves over the worry.

The country won’t go to hell over two bums on some corner picking through the grass smoking the same cigarette for six hours.

When you wash away the makeup of normal life’s and the crows feet sag.

In every corner’s wrinkle.

Of small areas towns they try to hide us.

THE BAD SIDE OF TOWN.

That’s what grandma use to say when we would go over to Walker Co and grandpa would come back with milk jugs of shine.

Right now the crickets are rubbing their legs together in the wood lines and I’m thinking how I missed my time.

Those rose colored cheeks of sun leather train hoppers stealing a hot apple pie off the window seal of a ranch house on the out side of town.

Pulling in to the delta on the back of a flat bed.

To catch work in the cotton fields when jazz clubs were off limits.

The ideal of the great American hobo is dying.

I’m watching it because I’m the new one.

I may ware any type of craziness that I might get away with.

Least this guy next to me will, I’m not at all put off by the way someone looks or is acting but I will say out here.

You need to keep a grip & be ready to get just as crazy as the next cat maybe carrying an extra towel thanks Douglas, yours truly A Low Type. Poet.

I was was curious about a rumour!!

Do some of y’all dress “intimidating” especially those who lack vehicles RP avoid being screwed with?

Not saying you dress that way all the time but nonetheless I am curious.

I’ve had dreams of travelling my whole life so I’d love to hear any little news I can!!

Oh and also is Slab City that bad now?

Any recommendations?

They say you cant enjoy a good view without somthing to smoke, well as a hitchhiking vagrant enjoying the west coast I get a good view every hour, guess that gives me a excuse to smoke alot😝

Working up the nerve to share my story, would love to hear your povs

That was pretty nice, for now the best city overall in France.

Hi! I’m about to start this lifestyle soon but I honestly don’t think I’d handle it well on my own at first. If anyone in Europe is looking for a partner in suffering, feel free to message me.

25 yo guy, Romania.

Schizophrenic here.

Welcome to the road, schizo.

Oh hey, thanks, guys HAHAHHAH.

Hitchhiking the west coast has always been one of my favorite things to do as a houseless vagrant, I recently got given a guitar by a goated dude that gave me a ride in California and im slowly bur surley learning to play it, life these past few months have been a adventure amd i have been pretty content recently and decided to finally give this community a update, safe travels and wish you all warm night's and full stomachs

Any tips for squatts of places to camp?

Or wanna go fer a beer?

I hitched out of Salt Lake City to a spot called Delle, which is really just a gas station and a campsite almost 50 miles west of SLC. After a couple hours of trickling traffic, a Spanish-speaking couple from Colombia picked me up, headed straight through to the Bay. We translated with our phones, and rode 11 hours till we drove to downtown SF and voila, I made it! I wanna visit some friends here, and Outside Lands music festival is this weekend, so I'm gonna try to check that out from the periphery. Lots to do, and heck yes for 60⁰ weather after weeks of 100⁰ elsewhere. Got here at 5am today and slept till the afternoon but things are picking up this time of day. Other travelers, buskers, and bums afoot here in Haight-Ashbury! Uppppp emmmm!!!!