KEYWORDS: a new home, phase II, transition.

I've settled on an a price with the owner of two little houses in upper Lawrenceville. They sit back to back, sharing a little yard, near 54th between Dobson and Carnegie Streets. The insides are pristine (nicer than any house or apartment I've ever lived in), but don't worry the sterile white walls won't last long.

Sara was right when she said it was a fucker-upper. I can't stop daydreaming about which walls need to be ripped down, where new walls ought to be made--who we can invite to install art, design shelves of scrap, and ultimately live in the cyberpunk apocalypse. My buddy Pat is certified in tunnel building and secret room construction (this will likely prove useful).

With any luck this agreement will be finalized, a deed will be signed, and these houses will soon be converted from simple rental properties into a bridge that connects fantasy with reality.

Abated Breth

Today I am waiting (again) to see if my offer will be accepted for two little houses in Lawrenceville that sit back to back, sharing a yard. A possibly quaint beginning for a home base.

Locked out

The kids at Landslide were kicked out of one of the three houses which make up their base here in Pittsburgh the other day. Cops came and told them they had 15 minutes to get their stuff out. They had been living there for two years, so after they grabbed a negligible amount of stuff (sleeping bags mostly) the PGH Polls boarded up the place.

Landslide is an urban farming project. Basically a bunch of punk kids live in, and fix up, a handful of decrepit houses while farming in a portion of central Pittsburgh that was once victim to a landslide. Though they look like a bunch of ragamuffins, they've lived in this world long enough to know ripping the plywood right back off the building when the cops left would be a short sighted solution. They are considered a non-profit project under the Thomas Merton Center, here in PGH. They've been in constant dialog with local leaders in their mission to procure more farm land, so they knew the right number for their friends to call. Phones in several public officials offices rang off the hook for hours, until finally (after a sympathetic lawyer threatened a federal suit against the city) the police returned to remove the plywood themselves.

Though, since the house has no plumbing or electricity, they are not technically allowed to live there--the property has been temporarily opened to them as an office-type space (which is something).

And while they were defending their home I was hunting for mine. After stopping by Landslide in the morning, and after making a phone call on their behalf I took 2 walk-throughs on my latest leads.

The places are being short-sold presently, so when they offer me a price, we'll know how hopeful it looks.

I'm also checking someplace out in Larryville on Thursday.
I'll keep you posted.

Limbo

Limbo is not a fun game that is preformed at parties. I is a place between places. As I continue to look for a house, I do my best to not become frustrated.
Yesterday I sat in my friend, Pat's, side yard, while he explained to me why I shouldn't get the mansion in East Liberty. He was right, of course. I'm working to make a writer's co-op not a fix-up-a-house co-op.
As we spoke bits of burning wood fell onto the gravel from the mouth of a steel drum. While chickens picked grubs from a five foot hight trash-pile. His house is like I hope mine to one day be. A safe haven in the middle of Pittsburgh. A separate world that somehow explains the larger picture better than that picture can itself--synecdoche.
Pat's brother over-heard my woes and invited me into his trailer where he had a laptop sitting upon the mini stove top. I sat on the rumpled bed next to a skittish pitbull, while he emailed his realestate agent's information to me.
I've since gotten in touch with the man. Hopefully this lead with prove fruitful.
In the mean time I whittle away at my novel, and work CPA the publication.
--A toast to in-between.