One Year Ago
It wasn’t easy; breaking away. As a matter of fact, it was extremely difficult. Not only because of the loneliness, the detachment from family and friends. It was more so the impossibly firm grip that the government has on your identity from the moment you’re born. I’ve spent the last decade trying to be no one. I’ve succeeded... until now.

I’m thirty two and I’m trying desperately to get out of the country. I’m currently in the U.S. I don’t come from here, but it was easier to “disappear” outside of Canada. I’ve lived the past six years here, mostly as a vagabond. Mind you I’m not your every day vagabond. Yes, I ride trains illegally, yes I sleep outside, yes I avoid police like the plague, but unlike most vagrants, I have class.

Maybe I’m tooting my own horn, but some day, you may find yourself walking by a man with a guitar on his back and never think twice about the fact that; he hasn’t paid taxes in ten years, he hasn’t had a real job in that same length of time, that on paper, he doesn’t even exist, and that almost every night, he searches for a safe place to sleep.

My older brother once asked me why I was doing it. Why I chose to “destroy” my life. I tried to explain but, they wouldn’t ever understand. They have been too indoctrinated by the system to ever understand. Matthew Good had it right. “In the wilderness the only place to find freedom is in the dictionary, under "F" ”

I can tell you, anonymous listener of my thoughts, why I chose to break away. Somehow I doubt even you would understand.

I was born in a prison. Immediately after my birth, I was recorded as being part of a particular group of people, in this case Canadians. This was done without my consent, understandably, I was an infant. A birth certificate is a difficult thing to rid yourself of. Apparently the only way to do it is well... to die. From that day forth, I was automatically expected to work for a living. To slave away at ridiculous tasks that do nothing but give wealthy people more money, while robbing the poor of what little they already possess. I wouldn’t have it. On my seventeenth birthday, when my parents attempted to force me to get a job I told them blatantly that I didn’t believe in jobs. They were quite upset.

“How do you think you’ll make it in life if you don’t work?” my father cried.

He didn’t seem to understand that his perception of life was very different than mine. He believed, like most do, that life begins in a hospital, and ends in a mortuary filled in between with a life long sentence of community service. Now don’t get me wrong. I work. I work often actually. But I work only to gain knowledge, and I use what little money I get under the table to move around from place to place.

I believe that food is free. I believe that nature is free. I believe that the planet we live on can not be owned; not even in the slightest way. Governments are like schoolyard bullies telling you that you can’t play in their part of the playground unless you do their homework for them and cough up your lunch money every day.

Let’s just say I got away from the schoolyard bully. Every once in a while though, something happens, I get careless, and suddenly the massive eye of society turns it’s ugly gaze toward me and I have to run and hide once again.

That’s what just happened. I was driving a car, that I put together while working at a scrap yard. I worked there specifically to learn about mechanics. The car had no plates of course, but in Alaska, most people don’t tend to bother you about things like that. In any case, to make a long story short I got stopped by a relatively green officer of the law. Luckily people are pretty relaxed around here in the middle of nowhere and I simply let him know that this was my work vehicle, and that I left my license at home. Thing is, I don’t have a home, and I don’t technically have a job either.

Now I have to leave. Otherwise, people will start to get suspicious, and I can’t even imagine how insane I would go if I were ever locked up.

So tomorrow, I have to find a boat. Luckily there are a lot that come and go from Asia, they dock at an abandoned fishing bay just south of here. It’ll be a little hard, and may use up most of the money I have, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to smuggle myself out of Alaska and into East Asia.

Dear anonymous listener... Wish me luck.

The End

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