Matt Morango

I’ve become somewhat of an expert in trespassing. Exploring new walking routes along highways, train tracks, petroleum pipelines, abandoned roads, back yards, fire lanes and deer paths. I’m still amazed that I can walk unnoticed for miles through suburban sprawl, staying only in the scraps of land nobody wants, or where nobody cares. The deer are a true inspiration.

Added by axoplasm #3 on 2003-06-22. Last modified 2004-04-15 07:52. Originally created 2003-06-22. F1 License: Attribution
Location: World, United States, Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, various neighborhoods
Topics: agriculture, anarcho- and neo-primitivism, art, carfree places, introduction, nomadism, route information, walking, wasteland

People are excellent at making babies and houses. As they eat away at the juicier parts of the land, they leave a stringy patchwork in between properties where wildlife and I adapt.

I used to be a driver because it seemed the only lifestyle available. After I stopped driving and started walking, the land opened up and time slowed down, and now I enjoy exploring the wasteland of modern civilization.

I’ve found a couple campfire spots, a dozen sleeping spots, and many walking routes that cover significant distances.

When trespassing, remember this: People are less observant than you give them credit for. They squint, straight ahead, through windshields, or glare at monitors all day. Even if they do see you scrubbing around in the bushes, they’re in too much of a hurry to complain about it.

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A quote for us-, by colin on 2004-09-11 20:26:33

For a long time I was reporter to a journal, of no very wide circulation, whose editor has never yet seen fit to print the bulk of my contributions, and, as is too common with writers, I got only my labor for my pains. However, in this case my pains were their own reward.

For many years I was self-appointed inspector of snow-storms and rain-storms, and did my duty faithfully; surveyor, if not of highways, then of forest paths and all across- lot routes, keeping them open, and ravines bridged and passable at all seasons, where the public heel had testified to their utility.

I have looked after the wild stock of the town, which give a faithful herdsman a good deal of trouble by leaping fences; and I have had an eye to the unfrequented nooks and corners of the farm; though I did not always know whether Jonas or Solomon worked in a particular field today; that was none of my business. I have watered the red huckleberry, the sand cherry and the nettle-tree, the red pine and the black ash, the white grape and the yellow violet, which might have withered else in dry seasons.

In short, I went on thus for a long time (I may say it without boasting), faithfully minding my business, till it became more and more evident that my townsmen would not after all admit me into the list of town officers, nor make my place a sinecure with a moderate allowance. My accounts, which I can swear to have kept faithfully, I have, indeed, never got audited, still less accepted, still less paid and settled. However, I have not set my heart on that.

Walden Thoreau

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