in the nomans land, in obombaland, in trumpworld, there are tentative camps, and more will appear. i've always had a warm place to live, except for a brief sojourn in my last car. 
it's weird that some people don't have keys or rooms to stay in, and some have rooms they may be evicted from. people are living day to day trying to make rent that might be out in nomans land in a heartbeat, when the speculative storm obomba hits. i thought i might be unhomed when they threatened to evict the renters in the co-op, where i don't live now, staying with the cats and r, where i once battled a mice invasion from a rehab next door. i feel for the people who live outdoors. this isn't the camping we loved as kids. then it felt like a freedom from walls, in nature, now we can't get inside enough, and the outdoors feels devastated, exhausted, threatened, the place where nature is spent feels threadbare, threatening. what we sought as kids vanishes. in the place of freedom we find acquisition, apparitions, ghost people, ghost animals, the absences theft creates.