# Thems Was The Dayz!



## SpiderJeruz (Oct 18, 2012)

I recall being only 14 or 15 and already skipping class and using a slew of mind altering chems.
 
I disappeared for days. I found places in my city that no one had visited for years aside from the occasional home bum, drifter, or graffiti writer. I had a back pack filled with essentials and took pictures of places around town. Exploring urban decay and vacant buildings in search of like-minded people and graffiti we're my main hobbies at this time. I stole like a kleptomaniac, smoked like a fiend, and drank cough syrup and dilute vodka like a madman.
 
I didn't have many friends. I scared them away by the time I dropped out and started getting suspended regularly. My undiagnosed ADHD hindered my ability to relate to other people and communicate on a 2 sided level. I am however in inclined in most things art. Whether it be mixing DJ sets, writing songs, drawing calligraphy. My pan handling signs we're always the most clever and pretty...
 
I'm a very intense fellow people tell me. I function on the level of an Adderal-addled antagonist when I'm not on some sort of drug. Dissociation was always my favorite feeling. DXM, 3-meo-PCP, ketamine... Hallucination was my talent. LSD, LSA, shrooms, RCs, and DPH... They put me into the head-space that I needed to achieve homelessness. Gave dark places and people a bright and funny vibe. They stopped my appetite for food and kept me awake for days. Made winter time seem like fall and summer seem like spring.
 
I still remember being, oh say 16, and walking the OSU campus in search of drugs, friends, money, something. I never found it. So I continued on foot through the city, down the main city road, and stumbled upon an abandoned granary. I must have been laughing manically when I found this place. It had graffiti plastered on the walls, junkie's rigs littering the floor. The smell could only be described as "Pungent". Must have been where they made manure.
 
It was dark and I had my LED light with me, so I was free to roam these crumbling playground. I found an old busted into office on the ground floor, next to what seemed an endless man made chasm where the manure used to be held. In this office was an old poster for some country music station, I guess was from the 70's, and had then long been defunct. It said something like "Only the best in country music." I took out a sharpie and wrote; "The times are a changin" below it.
 
Haha. I found old schematics for some sort of electronic mechanism used to lift manure. As I unzipped my satchel, folded the page, and stuck the blueprint between my notebooks I heard a cats meow echoe from some unknown facet of the giant facility. I took this as a sign to move on. In sillence I pondered how I could ascend this massive structure without falling to my death. On the front I saw 3 ladders, but decided they we're too linear and cops my see me. On the back was one ladder, but I figured the same. After searching the ground floor more and rellishing in the graffiti (One of which revelled: "Smells like shit!").
(eeew) 
An dark elevator shaft lead upward, this I avoided too. I found a much smaller ladder that lead to the roof of the office. It was too high for me to reach with my small child-like stature, so I pulled a rotting chair from the office to right below it. Stepping on the chair I made my climb. Once on the office roof I dodged holes and rot that could have easily been my end with one wrong step. I hopped over to metal ladder staircase that lead directly into the belly of this concrete fortress. It was a tough climb and seemed to last forever, but once I was up there I quietly chuckled to myself "Boy, I'm awesome, lets get started!"
 
After a small break in the open door frame that lead to more flights of stairs up, I heard pigeons screech and squawk at my every move. Their dung and shit coated the floors. I didn't care. On this first floor was a vast open space with a hard concrete floor, open door way to a far drop, and rusty metal structure beams laying on the floor. I took a seat on the most comfortable looking pillar. Unzipping my sack I pulled out a fifth of vodka I'd been saving, a shoe box of cannabis and zig-zags, and a bottle of Robitussin Robogels. I took swigs of that nasty 'cohol water as I rolled a few doobies. After one doobie, I mouthed the twenty vile red piles and downed them with more vodka. Once those settled in my tummy I smoked a black and mild to get rid of the nausea. Then I take a better look at the blueprints from the office. They began to take odd shapes and patterns and rightfully tripped me out.
 
I got tired of this, though, and started on my way back up the steps in the main hall. On the next floor I found the coolest thing. A rubber rotary belt used to transport manure from one side of the factory to the main silos. It spanned the length of a long hall with windows on either side. A local graffiti artist had painted a few of them, but for the most part the street lights illuminated the space nicely. I tested the belt and climbed on to it. It immediately became my own personal trampoline filament. I was so drunk and high and tripping, that I had lost all dignity.
 
I took off my bag, and all my clothes down to my boxers and boots. I ran back and forth along the thing, jumping up and down, skipping, hopping, but making sure to be quiet enough. I was completely alone, but I couldn't have felt more loved and crowded by my own thoughts and indignation pertaining to the outside realm. This was my sanctuary for moment and I didn't want to ruin it because some 911 caller was spooked by ghost stories of the place.
indexhhh 
After I got rather winded and bored of this activity, I again went up a floor. This was the last floor. It consisted of a myriad of skinny halls and doors leading to the ground. At the end of the halls was another large, open, concrete expanse. This was far more interesting, though. To the left was a door which led to a small doorway that opened up to a ledge where the ladder in the back had ended. Two of my city's biggest 90's graffiti writers had written their non-de-plumes with several cans of +33% rustoleum. The old kind, with male caps, and thicker coverage. I found the empties inside the small door.
Lupc449wleft 
I absconded back inside upon seeing cars below. In the middle of the large room was a ladder that gave access to a hatch that opened up to the largest point. I saved this for last. On the left of the room was another long hallway like the one with with rotary belt. Except this one lacked anything but an elevator shaft decorated by many ladders. I walked to the end and back, past the elevator shaft. Back into the main room and up the ladder, and out the hatch. I was on top of the world! It was a great feeling.
 
Careful to not be spotted I climbed back down and back to the elevator shaft. Up one of the maze-like ladders. I reached the ceiling. To support bars criss-crossed the right next to a mostly broken plexi glass window. Remembering a thick board on my way up I went down pulled it up with all my strength to the metal bars and next the window. I set it neatly across them and tested it out. It seemed strong enough. I opened the window and set up camp. Pulling out my sleeping bag, rolling out my bed-roll, and setting my lantern on low. I continued to drink liquor and smoke the rest of my we weed, while reading a Phillip K. Dick novel (which one escapes me as of right now). In the morning, I awoke, somewhat well rested but sweating out the DXM and vodka like an Eskimo in Hawaii.
thbf-palmsmiley 
I climbed back down the more linear ladder and found the original entry point to the compound, a fold back hole in the fence on the east side, between train tracks and the concrete of the building itself. I waved goodbye. Stinking of manure, marijuana, alcohol, dxm, jizz, sweat, blood, and tears I continued on my spirit quest. Back through the city, to OSU campus, and to an old friend's house in hopes of a meal and shower.
:: drinking buddy :: 
He gave it thankfully and we stayed up all night as I told him off my wild tales (sparing a few details, here and there), and he told me of his school work, girl troubles, and musical tastes. Ah, how world's can clash and yet remain in agreement, in almost perfect symbiosis. I love it. It's why I'm still here. Although I put this period of life behind me as I became an adult, I still look back onto it with fondness. Us nomads are some tough and smart motherfuckers. I tell you what.
ra.nd.o 
In case you're wondering who I am; I'm SpiderJeruz. Age 19 drug shaman, cyber punk, technician, silver tongue, cult leader, nomad, punk, psychedelic rocker, hip-hopper, poet, writer, DJ, painter, illustrator, journalist, and last but not least human being. Pretentiousness is not something that can had without without actually having the talent and skill claimed. Stay safe out there you dummies. Respect to the old timers. Home-bums, nomads, train hoppers, hitch hikers, intergalactic visitors. Get a job you dirty kids. With that I say goodbye. 
::woot::


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