VIOLET, LA. the weather is getting cooler again in the south. i sleep in a small one-story house on guerra street. the walls are partially covered to make a few bedrooms, the ceiling is open. the floor, bare concrete. i have lived on this plot of land since april, camping at first, now sleeping on a queen-size mattress. we are still without electricity and that seems alright with all of us. in april it was spark and i, now there’s seven of us who call it home, cots creaking, kitten playing in the middle of the night. a new volunteer told me tonight about an email he had received from  someone who i met in april, a group leader with a universilist unitarian assemblage; he knew all about be, he said, from this email message. it seemed he was comparing the two, the person he knew through words and the person standing in front of him. that’s funny, i said. was the message detailed? he said she said i was levelheaded and one to really help begin important work with the community. her name is wendy, i don’t really remember exactly who shi is from my foggy memory, and it’s intruiging to hear she developed such a positive impression of my work from one week volunteering at HOPE. but i do remember being extreamly motivated and steadily confident during that period at HOPE. it was in the month of april, a moment of transition for our organization (moving out of the church and into a community building temporarily donated to us), and an opportunity for me to step up to coordinating things at HOPE and being key in the organization itself. i’m glad to have made a good impression. even more so, i’m glad i’m still here today.

VIOLET, LA. it’s something interesting to be in the path of a madman. a con with psycotic destructive tendencies. a person (who will remain unnamed) has sent me away from HOPE, his wish was to drive me crazy and see me go. i saved him some effort, and myself the frustration of letting him take my happiness, so i left voluntarily. i refuse to work with or around him, or even to talk to him.

i moved myself to Emergency Communities (EC), a relief organization running a kitchen inside of Camp Hope (which has nothing to do with our H.O.P.E.). i’m in transition, and am thinking about working full time to occupy my time away from HOPE until i leave for the north in october. i need the money anyway, and simultaniously i may fulfill my daydreams of being a deckhand on a mississippi river barge. with october comes travels to maine and vermont and some excitement in new york city. ideally things will have calmed down at HOPE by november. i wish i could care about the outcome and well being of this unnamed person stated above, but i don’t anymore and it’s no longer my place to try. i have to let go of this one.

EC is nice, a getaway from my usual routine. sleeping alone on a mat, no close friends, simple, routine work. sweeping floors, washing dishes. perhaps this getaway is what i need anyway to quiet my mind, lose some responsibility over HOPE, regain a sense of myself.

so i went back just now and read my first entry into this journal [note: written journal, not this blog]. and i thought, at the end of my reading, that i should add my thoughts on civilization and how i’ve been inspired by reading the first few pages of derik jenson’s book, endgame.

Henry, the book’s owner, and i talked about endgame’s preface. Henry bought the book at the (literally) underground bookstore in minneapolis–mayday books, i think it’s called. we sat on my friends porch above a falafel shop on cedar avenue and talked. we joked that if you agree with derik’s twenty points stated in the preface–describing concisely just how civilization itself is, by character, unsustainable–then there’s no point in reading the whole book. you can just stop right there and tell everyone you’ve read the book because you already agree with the author.

the realization of civilization’s self-destructive nature makes me a bit depressed. but then again, it just confirms all the thoughts and questions i’ve had about the past, present, and future of organized human existance. it’s destructive by character and our lives are and always have been a speeding downward spiral. with every wonderful thing we experience or observe, there are two or more horrible things behind it, or even plainly right there to see. we are failing and always will be, buisness as usual.

VIOLET, LA. what will i be when i grow up? i think i’ve grown up, finally — or not so finally. i think i will continue to grow up over and over again. it’s a repeat cycle, ideally. and i hope i don’t grow up — i’ve always hoped for youthfullness and those carefree moments. but i’ve been matured through my experiences as of late and, at least psychologically, i’m an older, more hardened person. if youth means your soft (and i wish i was still soft–it’s no insult), then getting old means you’re hardned. the hardness comes through experience and the trials and tribulations of life; death (symbolically and literally), inequalities, just general life within civilization is breaking me, especially once you start analyzing civilization as a whole. ooooh, i’m getting kinda bitter and grumbly here, so i apologize. but it’s on my mind lately and i’m gonna vent a litte.

yeah, i’ve got some stories. not sure if i’ve gained a whole lot of knowledge along the way (i should work on that), but this world is showing it’s brutal side to me and giving me that experience. i remember those bumper stickers, “question sanity.” the stickers are stupid, but the expression is beginning to have new meaning to me.

love you all. come visit.

VIOLET, LA. here it is, all the weight and importance that i dremt for. a community, dedication, volunteers, funding, momentum, and admiration. and a desperate need because there is no one else. this is HOPE, and here i stand along with it. yes, i can handle it, but i just don’t know if i’ll do it right.

VIOLET, LA. just as things get busy and more transistions take place, making me feel as though i can’t leave HOPE, i get a phone call telling me my grandmother is not going to make it through the night. i can’t leave–not now, i think to myself. but i have to, this is important. a trip to iowa to help bury my grandmother and celebrate her life with those who loved her. this break is important not only for my family and for myself, but also for the principle that HOPE should be working collectively, other members filling in when the balance is disrupted. but the thought of leaving HOPE right now felt amost impossible.

there are three solid volunteers coordinating things at HOPE right now: phong, cassandra, and me. phong leaves for california on monday, cassandra for milwuakee thursday. that leaves me to hold things down with two part-time volunteers. furthemore, on saturday, a group of americorps volunteers are coming to HOPE volunteer for two days. and the community relief center is supposed to be open three days a week, with a neighborhood breakfast being cooked at HOPE on saturdays. if i leave this week, there’s no one here full time. and i’m in the middle of so many projects. hmm. but the two volunteers, gainsville mike and ryan who just showed up, are available. and there are local residents who can run the community center. ok. oh, and geoff is coming saturday. collectives are so marvelous in theory, but are people here committed enough to take over for the coordinators when we all leave?

if i had to live the rest of my life this way, hoping on my ideals, struggling to keep things together, i’d die early. dead from exhaustion. i love what i do, providing relief to residents, working together in solidarity, removing a salary from my work. but do enough other people want this too? or all we all suckered into scraping by under a system of jobs and leasure, money and consumerism. i’m not convincing anyone, i know. i’m only sounding like a whining radical, going bitter from the struggle. i know why so many of us escape to adventure and homelessness. or isolation and reclusivity. maybe i’m working myself to death avoiding my priviledge and opportunity to escape uncomfortable situations. or maybe i’m finding a way towards change. i can never tell.

oh well. iowa: here i come.

VIOLET, LA. this goes out to everyone working so hard to realize their dreams, and create a better world for others to do the same. we are in this struggle together, and we keep loving, keep fighting for what is right. we will lean on each other for support and grow. (thank you hope for the inspiring quote)

this goes out to everyone writing me, urging me to write more. i miss my journal but these days are too full and the paper gets put to the backburner. i can’t overlook this history i’m living in. i must keep writing–you too: don’t forget.

we three at HOPE project in St. Bernard are holding together the seams while time ticks by and gives us a struggle. there is a lot here for three to do, so in response we took some time off and puttered around new orleans. closed the shop on wednesday, drank coffee in the day and ate thai food at night. cassandra’s birthday was yesterday. we celebrated in a little piano bar, so quiet on a thursday night, listening to an old man slur ray charles while banging on the keys. phong relaxed horizontally on the sidewalk with his white russian and later we all sleepily drove back to violet breathing in the country air, moldy and dense.

i’m putting in some time to make print materials for HOPE, get us ready to outreach for new volunteers and fundraising. the season’s over for volunteers galore when everyone was motivated and eager to provide relief and rebuild. there isn’t
enough help down here and every relief organization is struggling to find people willing to work. but perhaps this is what HOPE needs: take some time to analyze the situation while we are small. i’ve said this before. it’s now that we will put together some ideas for where we want to go, how to go about it, and find those interested in working along the way. some community members are eager to get involved. this feels so good.

so i want to write more, like i used to, think and observe and digest like i used to. it’s hard. but i’m still loving this and moving forward. infinate love forever. keep hope.

come visit! i’ll be here for a while…

http://www.keep-hope.org

VIOLET, LA. i have so little free time now. i’m back, and i want to keep writing, but there’s no time for that right now. i look forward to having electricity in our houses, but wish our lifestyles didn’t demand electricity in so many ways. it feels like we are being dragged down as an organization without it. but we creativly make due, enjoying a somewhat primitive lifestyle and bearing with the heat and lack of phones, computers, and lights. it’s a reminder that we rely on these things all too heavily.

i miss you all. write sometime…

CHICAGO, IL. i’m in chicago just for a moment to pack up my old house and store whatever i decide to keep, which will be most everything. i have a hard time getting rid of things, always seeing the potential in a box of old hardware or a stack of bicycles. i’m moving to a place where i don’t want to keep anything–the gulf coast–where there’s the risk of flood and disaster once again. i wonder how long i will stay to work there. my friend shawnecee reminded me of all the things i was working on in chicago, the community that was building here. she’s saddened by the news of my chicago departure, and now i’m disapointed that i’m leaving, too. no more neighborhood bike project, wood-working coop, collective living, community gardening, etc, etc, etc. i can’t tell anyone i’ll be back, because really i don’t know. and being back now to visit–nine months since i began my travels and never really came back–i see the negative signs of gentrification and homoginization happening clearly in the store fronts and in the new condos. a year ago, i was sick of the social box i lived within. white, young, priviledged, safe. i feel like i am challenging that now, working without pay in a forgotten, flooded town. but i do have a long way to go before i understand my position in this society and what responsibilites i have. i hesitate to let go of the tools (all my belongings i will store) so that others can use them in the future.

i kinda think i’m going off on a rant. i just wanted to say hello, and i’ll be back in Violet again soon. love, nico.

VIOLET, LA. i’ll forfeit my secret aspiration of writing like a professional journalist and give a holla out to all my loved ones that read this journal… cause that’s 90 percent of who reads it. to my chicago friends. to family in north carolina, virginia, iowa, oregon, california. to my big sis in nyc. and little sis in santa cruz. to sleeper in minneapolis. (let it be known, too, that there is an amazing woman, marisha, working now at HOPE because she found this journal, sent me an email, then called me up on the phone to get directions out to violet, louisiana. i feel good about helping guide someone out here to this collective organization, and especially good because she has helped make this organization even more beautiful today.)

i want to say i love you to every friend i’ve ever made who knows i’m out here. so many of you have kept me in your thoughts and sent me words of positive encouragement. without you i wouldn’t be able to get out of bed and work so hard. you give me the confidence and light to do what i do here.

i’ve kept out of touch with all of you, neglecting my journal and losing touch through a lack of writing letters or making phone calls. but it’s all because i am busy and living in a bit of isolation with just a handful of HOPE people and the ten percent of the community that has moved back home. right now, we reside in two houses. one is a free store (food, clothing, supplies distribution) with a second story for office space and living. the other house is just for living. but neither house has electricity. at this moment, a generator is growling in the background to provide some light in the kitchen and living space at the two story house. the water is running, but the plumbing still needs work, and even so, the tap water brimming with ridiculous levels of arsenic. we can’t filter our water with normal filter systems or even wash our vegetables without bottled water… and don’t get me started on the lack of vegetables around here. we’re secluded on an island of toxic soil and ground water, rebuilding amongst mold and lead and asbestos and oil. so why are we all still here? why do people want to move back in? i can’t forget this is home for others, no matter how dangerous it is to live here. the ability to leave and choose a cleaner living space is a privilege i’m ready to let go of for now, in trade for the chance to help those who cannot choose to leave. it’s not my place to tell people to go somewhere else. but it’s my choice not to leave, to work with the community that has asked us to stay. to work against the systems that created this unsafe environment in order to make life better for those who call this place home.

am i crazy? am i going too far? let me know what you think.

HOPE had a vision meeting the other night. about a dozen HOPE volunteers and four local residents were in attendance. we went around the circle and stated how long we’ve been here, when we plan on leaving (which is soon for most volunteers), and our vision for HOPE. it was heartwarming to listen to people speak on their dreams for what could happen here. and sobering to discuss what the community needs to get back on it’s feet. i responded briefly about how i don’t have a detailed vision really, but feel that there’s something natural about letting things fall into place. feeling out what a community needs instead of implementing our desires in a community that is not ours. and i hope to help teach and assist with afterschool programs for local youth. after the group share circled around and there was a pause, i added that i had made a decision to stay. despite all the close comrades here that will be leaving soon to travel and see family, i will remain. i have chosen to live in the house we reside in on Guerra Street for as long as we have permission to live there… which is 18 months at this moment. i think my decision has helped provide some relief to others, relief because of many reasons. there was some smiles around when i made my announcement. and i’m glad i can add some stability to the organization by being here to follow through with our promises to the community. for me it’s a little like diving into the deep end, and it took a long time for me to come to this decision–to be confident in making my promise to this community. but it feels entirely realistic and i feel entirely welcome here. thank you, violet. thank you, HOPE. thank you to all the spirits and ghosts that led me here to find my way. i am discovering happiness again, and being happy by myself.

VIOLET, LA. i wrote this on a scrap piece of paper in march in the back of a car heading south to the beach on the gulf coast. i found it again folded up in my wallet, and i’ll copy it down here as a record of my emotions, another piece of the timeline doing relief work here in louisiana.

when i arrived in new orleans, the sinking, horrible feeling came conciously and on the surface. now that feeling is rooting itself deeper in my subconscious. i don’t think much about the devastation now, but i am much more sad. it’s a drowning feeling coming sporadically and often causing near immobilization. i can’t feel much of anything but emptiness and despair, almost as if i’m coming to empathize with the people who survived the storm and today tell their story to those who listen…

she stepped out of her house onto the front step. the hurricane winds had calmed and she thought to herself how mild a storm that was. a few trees down, some telephone poles knocked over. something they could handle. looking out from her front step, she felt rain fall on her forehead and watched the dark sky above. she looked to her left. off in the distance, a wall of water came surging down the street, and unstoppable force of nature coming to tear down houses and drown anything in it’s path. i can’t fathom the feeling of impending death, the fear. but i’ve heard a dozen stories yet of those who felt the fear and immediatly fought back, holding onto the possibility of life, however small that chance may have been. climbing furniture as the water rose within minutes. punching through ceilings to climb onto roof tops. sitting on chimneys waiting for help and maybe rescue. swimming on driftwood to hold themselves up. having guns pointed to their faces by cops and property owners hunting for “looters.”

in february, i heard these stories with a strong interest and felt sympathetic. i could almost say i had a hunger for the oral history being told by so many survivors and those who came to help. but now, at the end of march, i’m sick to my stomach and depressed. i hear these stories and have to put my head down or look away, off into another world where i try to imagine the fear of facing either death or devastation. death means letting go; surviving means dealing with the aftermath and attempting to cope. my spirits are lifted by the survivers, those coming home, the relief volunteers, all the people working in solidarity together. but right now i’m tired and lonely, working hard amongst destructive, corrupt, oppressive systems, trying to figure out a better way.