Staticfree Blog

I've recently observed that my life could be broken down to a series of chairs and wireless connections, roaming with a backpack, tech and a book. I'm a digital nomad with my home on my back: a glowing screen with my world inside. I like it this way - being connected as I roam - as I can be free yet not isolated. My world travels with me, varying in company, bandwidth and comfyness.

Right now I'm sitting in the near-closed Garage in Harvard Square, listening to some homeless men discuss the world as they know it. I type and listen, idly skimming websites as I go.

Time has passed now, and I sit on the train - off to another chair and wireless, releasing ideas and musings to the ether. The men were an intriguing crowd - certainly not what I had suspected, but not entirely unlike my preconceived stereotypes.

As I sat there on my island of music and 'net, more men started congregating around the table next to me. They all seemed to know each other and were mutually decompressing after a seemingly good day. They had been ignoring me until a tall, thick man walked in the nearby door. Rich (whose name I later found out osmoticlly) decided to "break the ice" by confronting me as though he were a gay man being all too forceful and untactful at asking me for a one night stand. I was very confused at first - as he seemed to play the part well - and did not seem to get my "leave me alone" vibes. After a tense moment or two, he let up and stated that he was only joking. Cute, really cute, but it was all too obvious that there was some deep set homophobia in him. He later admitted such, although he was statedly tolerant of homosexuals. His primary argument was that he didn't want "them" trying to "convert" him. I hope my generation will be better when we're his age.

Time went on, I listened as I read. There was talk about people: a collective brainstorm to remember a near forgotten body of the past; talk of jobs: memories from before, from the good times; talk of hope and compassion: wishing absent acquaintances better times with their abusive boyfriends and dead-end lives. I hung around until the Garage closed and said goodbye. My dose of surreality had been filled for the day.

Back "home", now in the comfiest of chairs and connected with the most bandwidth, I now write and think. Those men gave me a brief glimpse into their world, but what do I give in return? What can someone who feels as though they have all that they want, give someone who does not? In my mind I let these questions simmer and stew; perhaps something rich will result from them when I discover their answers.