At present I am broke, delirious, in desperate need of money- if things continue as they are I fear this ends badly, violently; I barely can walk and all sorts of people have been pulling knives on me lately...There are no decisions left in life that can be made in accord with anything but absolute necessity. This is a brief and underwrought account.

In 2013 I flew to Los Angeles to undertake a mural project for a headshop in the valley. A complete novice when I started, by the end of three months I was at least competent: the painting was good, everyone was satisfied. I made plans to stay in LA and try to convert a warehouse in the Skid Row / Arts District neighborhood downtown into a sort of gallery/concert space. My neighbors on one side ran a general store, above us was a brothel, and to the left were a punk collective that held regular live events. I am not the most egregious or extroverted personality and kept mostly to myself; the punks interpreted this as disrespect initially and the misunderstanding snowballed into a sort of terf war- they wanted to expand into my section of the warehouse, viewed me as a force of gentrification, etc. They began to taunt me through the walls, unavoidable as it was I couldn't afford to simply stay elsewhere and eventually I began firing back; the spat turned ugly and lasted for months, involving the entire neighborhood, people taking one side or another. They had set up a camera and would provoke me as I tried to work, I would diss them back, they'd come around and slam on the door, threaten to stab me, etc. Every day, for months, corroded sanity. I made plans to return home to Minnesota after the completion of the warehouse murals- not wanting to give up on the work midway -and once they were finished I packed up and drove the 2500 miles back to Minneapolis doing 90 the entire way, screaming, rapping, my old car's engine shuddering under the exertion. Half-insane at this point.

I had not kept in regular contact with my family, maybe calling once or twice every two weeks. Detecting something was wrong, it was not until arriving at home that I was able to truly discern the situation.

My father had slept with his sister, my aunt, embarked on some depraved adventure of homosexuality and prostitute-buying, flaunting everything. My mother in turn had purchased sex for herself, the whole thing escalating into some sort of disgusting sexual arms-race. My grandfather and uncle were involved as well, casually dropping hints about their own misdeeds while simultaneously begging me for help. My aunt came onto me at an easter celebration and had to be dissuaded by another relative more safely removed from the situation. My sister was scrambled by an adderall prescription and of course affected by the situation, more than she could consciously perceive; she as well propositioned me for sex more or less unintentially. It was sheer horror; I was broke and battered from months of daily ghetto feuding and thought of nothing but running, though I did not have the means. The priority was making sure my sister was alright- I kept my head down and played dumb until I could make a move.

There were some mural projects in the Twin Cities that had to be finished before I could leave, my only source of income at the time. I worked outside painting during the day, avoiding my house as much as possible and sleeping in my car at night. Eventually the work was completed and I made plans to leave. First I attempted to relocate to Chicago and find an apartment, though my parents had grown suspicious of my motives and were provoked to call the police when they learned I had left the state; accompanied by a number of officers they burst into my friend's apartment and made me to return home. A day later I learned that my passport had been taken from my jacket and put in a safety deposit box, and my car hidden away in some city garage. Panicked and incredulous, I made plans to fly to New York to stay with some saner branch of the family.

I left for the airport early in the morning so as not to draw attention; exhausted, agonized, disgusted, I sat in the lobby waiting for my flight, head in hands. Soon, however, I was roused by three airport security personnel, who dubbed me suspicious and asked for identification. I complied. Later I would read their statement: they claimed I had possessed no ID or money and stated an intent to "forage for food" in the wild. At this moment though it was hard to know what their motives were, and my heart sank when they eventually alerted me that I would be transported by ambulance to a hospital. No friends could pick me up, I was not free to leave.

I spent the next month and a half at the hospital, motionless, silent, not wanting to give my thoughts up to the place. The pain was unreal. I was caught spitting out the antipsychotic medication I had been duly prescribed, and subjected to injections of a more concentrated version of the same. The chemicals left my mind a crater; my genuine thoughts eradicated, shorn, the constant seizures and muscle spasms still impede daily life even two years later. All the torture from before was sealed inside, screaming, frozen, completely unreachable then and now. I would grovel literally at my doctor's feet, crying, begging her to release me and desist the medication, never to any effect. I had ried to run, nearly escaping after a court hearing only for my drug-addled legs to trip in the snow. My family was more or less pleased with my relative ability to be controlled. I was to be released to a sort of halfway house, to take the medication for 6 months to 2 years, under civil commitment. If I tried to run I would be treated as a fugitive and returned to the hospital.

Of course I had to extricate myself. Europe, Canada, and Japan were off limits due to their customs intelligence databses being linked wih those in the USA. I decided on Mongolia, as far-removed as possible- legally there would be little way for the courts to exert authority over me, and getting there would not be as risky, I hoped. There was enough money to stay in Ulaanbaatar a few months at least. I snuck out of house during the day and was able to procure a new passport, eventually buying a ticket using most of my remaining money. The day of the flight came, I left for the airport and boarded without any trouble, finding myself in Seoul 13 hours later. Here I was stopped by security, who produced a faxed warrant-like document from the courts in Minnesota, ordering my apprehension and return. I was able to persuade them to let me continue on to Ulaanbaatar; the priority on their part was keeping me out of South Korea, suspecting I was some sort of criminal. Watched over by a small detail in SWAT gear I waited for my flight.

Arriving in Mongolia the next morning I started about negotiating with the county, asking that any requirements of forcible medicine be lifted. The courts in America agreed, but stipulated that I remain in Minnesota under civil commitment for the next four months, at my parents' house. I was disappointed with this outcome but grateful to be rid of the prescriptions; cautiously I returned home.

Not wanting to stay at the house, I mostly slept in my car, driving around during the day looking for house painting and muralwork, agonizing, waiting to be allowed leave. The car broke down eventually and I moved to a forest near the Mississippi river in St. Paul with a tent and my rucksack. Winter arrived and it began to be too cold to sleep outside (-40 F at night, continental humidity), I took out a loan and purchased a car to sleep in, figuring 4x4 would be useful in reaching a cabin or whatnot once actual lodging became possible to secure. I began receiving tickets, however, for having no insurance; eventually I was arrested on such charges and brought to jail, my car impounded. It was January, I had nowhere to stay and had spent the entirety of 2015 homeless. Fed up, upon release I bought a ticket to Tokyo and left the next day.

Metropolitan Tokyo felt surreal after living on the streets of St. Paul for so long. I sublet an apartment and revived some old avant-garde theatre translation projects to keep occupied while I scrambled for a more sustainable setup. Getting ahold of a young entrepreneur in Kochi prefecture, I headed down there to work on his farm, with lodging provided free. My pained and eccentric mental state did not jive well with my partner's obsession with face and status, and after about two weeks we had a falling out. I left for Seoul.

Finding an affordable apartment in Yongsan I signed a sublet agreement for three months; the place was spacious enough to finally get to some artwork. My mental state was only growing more despondent, though, and constant seizures and tremors made even holding a pen excruciating. Nonetheless it was at least a return to some sort of productive sedentarianism, but again I worried about money and the long-term viability of my situation. I was cut off from my friends, most of whom wanted nothing to do with the insane homeless man who for some reason wanted nothing to do with his family. Reaching out for help, I was mostly ignored. All I wanted was solitude, a few years to pick up my life in peace, to work. South Korea was becoming too stressful and had enough of its own problems to deal with for me to attempt to prolong my stay; stressed and vomiting I returned to Minnesota, with hopes of setting up a yurt somewhere or once again trying to find a cabin.

Reclaiming my car I drove west to Oregon. I had contacted an old acquaintance over Facebook and offered the Jeep free in exchange for lodging, as driving it too much without insurance would incur the same penalties as before. Reaching Oregon, however, I was stopped numerous times and eventually arrested and once again thrown in jail, where I spent the time curled up in the shower having nervous seizures, reading the Book of Revelations back and forth with the hooker from New Orleans in the next cell. I had just enough money to return to Minnesota upon release, and as I could not pay the tow lot my car and the entirety of my worldly possessions contained within- $2500+ dollars of camping gear, artwork, translation projects, pens, brushes, ink, books- were auctioned off.

I am now in Minnesota, insane, chemically lobotomized, more or less alone. It is winter and I am unprepared; I'd like to rent a cabin but am broke with unusable credit; in my possession is a laptop, some notebooks, and about 30 dollars worth of sunflower seeds. Former friends don't really want to fuck with me anymore, invoking my family would be suicide and I fear this ends violently if I don't act fast and produce some sort of miracle; if I am stopped by the police and sent to the hospital most likely they will whip out the syringes and try to put me down like a dog, as before.

As for my relatives- reading some of the emails they've sent is astounding, it's like they've completely erased their minds of everything that transpired.