#found diary

But Cedar Bend has its own quiet rules. Don’t whistle after dark. Don’t answer if you hear your name outside at night. Never accept a room key that’s already warm. Holly says she doesn’t believe in superstitions… and still obeys every single one.

Sept. 3rd

Dear Diary,

Yes, I know, I still haven't found a better name, and I neglected to write in you yesterday.

What a hectic day it was.

I visited the property yesterday to drop off the last load of things, and see how much more needs to be done.

I almost couldn't believe it. Sure, I've been to the 300 acre river lined lot often these days, but short of the old barn, and hot springs, I'd have never considered I would actually fall in love with the cabin.

I know I commissioned it, but still. I'd been rather... whimsical?

Yes, that.

During the decision making process, I truly did approve of every last little detail. This place is to become my final resting place afterall. Would be a shame to hate it. Even a little.

Still, altogether...

The place has become magnificenct, incredible beyond words even. Maybe I should photograph it?

We should start relocation within the next few days. The movers will be here soon to pack up the non-essentials.

It's days like today when there is somuch to do, I almost forget why I'm doing it.

So I can die... In peace.

Sept. 1st

Dear....

I'll think of a name for you eventually. Calling it a "Diary" feels... strange?

Unnatural?

Truthfully, I'm still unsure why I bought the silly thing to begin with. It's not as if I'll have that much to write about. Not now anyhow. 35 years I've lived on this planet, and not once, not even as a teenager, did I own or have the urge to keep a journal. Yet... here I am. Writing in one like anyone would even care to read it. As if anyone would be interested int he final days of my bleak life.

I suppose that isn't entirely true.

I did have fans once.

Maybe they won't forget me afterall.

Even if I was just a boring, faceless avatar.

ph: Marco Bulgarelli and Maike Pullo

This text comes from a bundle of old diaries my girlfriend found when she was moving out of her apartment. They were under her sink in a plastic shopping bag. She's nosey, and it was her place after all, so she had to look inside. Even though they were badly damaged we could still make out the incredible tale of a man's life.

Friday Dec 1

Blue skies. I’ve fallen in with a gang who I don’t trust for even a minute. There’s four of them. Grizzly street men. Their smell reminds me – as if I needed reminding – that if I don’t turn my fortunes around fast, I’ll be so far removed from the real world that they’ll never allow me back. They spotted me begging in Defiled Square*. I’m a good beggar. It’s because I’m recently on the streets and I’m young and I guess people imagine a few cents here and there might save me, so they’re generous. The other guys are so much a part of the streets that people just walk past them. They might as well have plaques at their feet instead of cups. Anyway they came over all aggressive at first so I offered them some of my takings. They liked that and it’s then they started talking about heading south. They’re leaving on Monday they told me. If I didn’t want to freeze to death during Polish winter I should join them. I have nothing to loose. I’m in.

*Defiled Square is probably a reference to Defilad Place in Central Warsaw

Monday Dec 4

We took the train this morning at 6am. When you sleep rough, you always wake up early so it was no big deal. We sat between carriages and passed time seeing how far along the aisle we could roll a penny. It was just an excuse to crawl around on the floor looking up the skirts of passengers. We had sardines two days ago. I still get the taste every time I burp… The oldest guy explained our trip like this – because so many homeless men die every winter in Poland, the rail authorities don’t check for tickets if you want to head south somewhere warmer, and survive. In this way, Poland exports its problems and we get a free road trip right into the heart of Czechoslovakia *. We arrived into Prague and marched straight out of town in a hurry. Keep your head pointed at the ground and don’t look up until you see suburb, they said to me. My gang are all big men. Sure they’re withered and broken from years on the street but their shoulders were made working ploughs and factories. Still, they were so scared of running into Czech bums that we spent less time in that capital than the sun does in winter. As we walked the gang traded stories of hapless tramps getting their legs set on fire and dangerous bastards only too happy to chew off an ear to prove a point. I listened and didn’t miss Prague for a second.

*This actually still happens today in Poland. It’s been an unofficial arrangement since the winter of 1977 when temperatures in Poland dropped to minus 40 and almost two hundred homeless men died.  Also, our author’s reference to Czechoslovakia suggests that the trip was made pre-1993.

Wednesday Dec 6

I have two new holes in my socks. They look like cheese. Man is Vienna ever rich. It’s been decided that we’ll stay here till Friday to clean up. Soon as we hit Hungary we won’t get a penny and the best way to see Serbia, they say, is quickly. They told me this morning that the plan was to make Athens early next week. It’s strange, since I set off I didn’t know where we were going, I just knew that we were getting away from a winter that might kill us. Now that I know we’re going to Greece, I’m excited. Austrians don’t have too many bums to contend with so it’s a lot like taking candy from a baby. Pavel stole a scooter. He just walked up to the bike, ripped the plastic off the ignition and had it hot-wired in a minute. We bombed around Vienna like clowns. Whenever we ran out of petrol, we’d just pull up beside another car, Pavel would pop the petrol cap and make me suck and spit the gas from the car into the bike. Every time a drop managed to squeeze past my tongue I’d wrench and Pavel would laugh at me. Next time you can steal the bike and I’ll get the gas, he joked. It was only when he crashed the bike into a lamppost and were both running away, I realised we hadn’t even been wearing any helmets. Pavel’s the luckiest hobo I’ve ever met.