DARK NOON OF THE SOUL

No one will be seated during the last 3 inches of this picture

Okay, okay. I'm still the same stupid ass I was in all the other lousy blogs I pretended to blog in. 

The afternoons around here have been murderously hot, just ferocious. I'm not generally known for patience anyway and guess what? There are a whole bunch of folks hanging around Nebraska Avenue who don't work. Surprised? Neither am I. Since I moved a whole 3 houses from the shelter where I was housed, it ain't far from the 'hood. The users, abusers, crack whores and grifters are all here and a partyin'. Life is grand. Except when it ain't; mostly when I show up.

We actually are in a quiet little house one building east of Nebraska. Directly across from us is a parking lot for the Nebraska Cafeteria that is run by a Honduran family. JC and I hot foot it over there several times a week to eat their food and exchange "it's hot" comments multi-lingually with them and their customers, so we can feel multi-cultural. It's a pleasant way to spend a confusing 15 minutes, as we wait for our orders. I, of course, am right at home. Next to that little cafe is our laundromat, which for now will remain shrouded in secrecy. 

The afternoon I stepped outside to just see what was going on, which I was hoping was a whole bunch of nothing, I noticed one of the "regulars." The "regulars," are the winos, users and in at least one case a drunk Jehovah's Witness (straight with God there, big fellah?) who pester, beg, bully, sing, opportune, amuse, threaten, hit and sadden the surrounding inhabitants. Now, let me be clear about something. There are no clear lines here. Sometimes, the drunks and users are the inhabitants, I've noticed and the opposite occurs as well. It's a swell Merry-Go-Round. However, there are a few of us who don't choose to get on that ride, and one of the saddest things I've seen? The most vociferous in their condemnation of the abusers are some of the worst.

Hypocrisy is not by definition one of the seven deadly sins, but I think it should be. I believe that hypocrisy is responsible for some of the most reprehensible of thought in any spiritual or judicial canon, if I may be so lofty. Hypocrisy is responsible for pogroms, lynchings, slavery, sexism, racial, sexual orientation; you know the litany. It is lying. Lying is a sin. Sorry. It's evil.

Anyway. My particular "regular" was Guy with Fucked Up Leg And Cane With 4 Prongs, henceforth, "GWFULACW4." I step out, hoping for nothing much going on-ness, when  GWFULACW4  unfurls his hose of 2 1/2 inches IN THE FUCKING STREET IN FRONT OF MY HOUSE AND BEGINS TO WATER THE STREET AT 2:30 IN THE GODDAMNED AFTERNOON!

I'm not a little irate. I'm not a bit irritated. I'm not mildly annoyed. Understand something World At Large. I walk around with my head at RED ALERT all the time. Last month a mouse the size of a CANOE ran through my bedroom. My eyes are like a really bad fun house mirror, and the left one is dark, warped and cloudy. My brain interprets everything as BIG and has for seven years. It's DEF CON 5. It's 3 minutes to Midnight. It's Alan Parson's "Psycho Babble Rap" in my head, but I've learned to live with it. However... it can be kind of like nitro, and you know what?

It can go BOOM! LOL; it didn't this time. As GWFULACW4 was obliviously pissing away, I screamed "HEY!! YOU!!!!! QUIT PISSING IN THE ROAD"

GWFULACW4 didn't miss a drop, kept peeing. "DAMMIT!!! YOU FUCKER!!! QUIT PISSING IN THE STREET!" GWFULACW4 looked up, poked his pecker in his pants and we started brandishing our canes at one another like some lunatic fencers at Hell's Championships. "Shu'p Bitch!" "Fuck you, you asshole" Witty retorts rebounded. I was more menacing because I was soberer or could see better I guess. GWFULACW4 shuffled off, me bounding along (okay, tripping after with whackamole) "Don't you piss on that guy's car, you bastard, I'm calling the cops!" GWFULACW4 hobbled faster.

I didn't feel bad about that at all. What if a kid had seen that? Jesus. This guy badgers people and he's a bastard to boot. He's one of the ones who never sobers up, never gives it a rest and lives off the dole all the time. I have a problem with that. But I also just hate the attitude of "ah, the poor, we shall always have them with us..." Is there no answer? Do we just do the best we can with someone like that and concentrate our efforts on the ones who really matter? Then, who decides that?

Maybe I should. God knows I'm rational enough. There's a stray cat that has been coming around here. She was pregnant and we fed her up through and after the birth of her kittens. The bitc.. erm, neighbor next door, who "pretends" not to speak English bitched to our Landlord who is a very nice man and a bit of a wuss. She has gone from neighbor to Chupacabra. He asked me not to feed her and I went into a meltdown over it. Honest to God, how in the Hell can anyone do that to a defenseless animal? I cried for days. She "claims" that fleas have gotten into her house. Well, the cat, who is a beautiful tortoise-shell spent a whole 5 minutes twice a day up here on our porch eating. How in the fuck did fleas get from a stone porch, through screens into a living room in two weeks?? Lying Chupacabra!!!

I gave her the Evil Eye. When no one was around. I caught her and hissed at her and growled. I talked to her in a language she understands. No one believes her. The Landlord doesn't. JC knows I would never do anything like that. I still feed her too. The cat. Not Chupacabra. Tomorrow, I shall tell of the Laundromat and what I would enjoy doing; I am also going to be adding "Featured:" blogs that I read regularly and hope you guys do too, if you don't, you're missing out. Ciao. 




Featured: Well, in my usual user-hateful way, I refuse to try and interface with this Bloggy-blog thingy. I am not in Wordpress, because I hate that even more than Blogger, so will suffer along here until I find out how to beam my thoughts directly into all your heads. Can't wait for that! 


Featured now: Sundae Rye, @ http://sundaeryestudio.com/  good stuff there and Michael Formichelli, check out his book at http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/blood-siren-book-one-michael-formichelli/1110841805?ean=2940014425643&cm_mmc=AFFILIATES-_-Linkshare-_-je6NUbpObpQ-_-10:1

OKAY, MORE IMPORTANT NEWS, HOMELESS CHRONICLES BACK IN BUSINESS, NOW WITH LESS IRONY, MORE... WRITER'S BLOCK?

I really did hit a writer's block or brick wall with this title. I wanted something clever and ironic and witty and eye-catching, that will nab me a million views in one day. Bullshit; we all know this is not going to happen. I am re-launching this website for a purpose and a good one I hope. But, the hell with it. I want to do something good here and if I just keep thinking about it and trying to polish it, it will never get done. It's my Preciousss.... *shakes head* Let me cut right to the chase.

Anyone who’s known me for any longer than five minutes pretty much has heard me barf up the story of my life so I won’t puke it up again. Just the usual stuff, smart parents, but dysfunctional, alcoholic daddy, co-dependent ma, deeply flawed, but man, they were good people. I was basically lazy, low, low, self-esteem, slacker, blah, blah, but got somewhere, because I had loads of talent, but little drive and loads of self-destructive behavior. Cursed myself, but I own it and I am lucky to be walking and breathing. Okay. I have nothing that will kill me outright, but lots of annoying shit that I bore my poor friends to death with, topped off with a butt load of bi-polarity and that evil, lying bitch, depression. (am I right, Andi-Roo?) I got pretty fucked up over this whole thing called “life” a few months back, which I do on a fairly regular basis. I found out I was bi-polar this past March, after having stayed up most of February. Ironically, I don't remember much of March, except for St. Patrick's Day weekend. The rest of March, I was in the Hospital under the kind auspices of the Baker Act, which is a polite term in Florida for Loony Bin. Life is some serious shit.
 
I am one of the lucky ones. To wit: I have a roof over my head. I have food. Yes, I am on SSDI. Yes, it's a constant battle to get any kind of health care at all. It just forces me to be very discerning and ask lots of questions, and not necessarily about the particular health problem I may be dealing with at the time. So, enough of my organ recital.

I got my second chance; I suspect one of the reasons I am having such a bad time at this point, is I have nothing to really engage me, nothing that makes me feel alive NOW. That is a terrible thing to say. I have a good man in my life, whom I love beyond reason. I have countless friends who love me and whom I adore. I am still after 56 years of sloth, indolence, carelessness and general indifference, intensely interested by the human condition. I am curious, awed, moved, amused, bemused, exhilarated and disgusted by the way we treat one another. Everything we do has a consequence, everything we do matters and matters greatly. To quote Arthur Miller, "Attention must be paid."

When JC and I were coming home the other day on the Bus, a woman was standing out in the rain trying to sell the little newspaper that homeless people can "sell" for 1.00 to earn money since panhandling has been outlawed in Hillsborough County. This is the most asinine law. The lawmakers here resisted it for a few years, but the law was passed across the bay in Pinellas County, so it was simply a matter of time. I know all the arguments about the homeless. I've been there. I was homeless and it really sucked and I got un-homeless just as fast as I could. Truth be told? If I hadn't been so goddamned sick that I spent 2 months in the hospital and I was a shoo-in for SSDI, I'd probably still be homeless, nearly two years later. Shudder. 

Anyway. This woman is standing in the rain trying to sell her wet newspaper. Debby is borin... er, raining on her; she's wet, her little paper's wet, and I can't get out of my goddamned bus seat to get to the door to get her a damned dollar because the light changes and I trip over whackamole. I cried all the way downtown. Life can just suck. I want to help people like that. That lady needs help. She doesn't need condemning. She's not one of these people who's getting a check once a month and blowing it by the 3rd of the month. They live across the street from where I live now. I have to stop. I will tell more. Much more and not just about the homeless, but the system and their absurdities. Maybe I can find some answers and some concrete ones.

Please come back; I have more to tell. I want to help in my little patch of Nebraska Avenue. It isn't just about being funny or being insane, it's about doing what I can here with the not insubstantial tools I possess; just don't ask me to drive. I can become engaged and feel alive again.

BIG, GIANT, IMPORTANT NEWS. . . (ok, maybe not so important)

Okay, this is going to be kind of short right now. I am no longer homeless, which is a true blessing. It does not feel right to me, to post under that guise, so, I will make some entries here about the lovely folks at Happy Acres. I've been scratching around for a new, offbeat, fresh, and kooky angle to bilk, er, entertain blog trollers. I have come up with what I think is a brilliant, and most likely, a not original concept: "niche" blogging. In the manner of "icanhascheezeburger," "Crap At My Parents' House," and "MOBA" I am creating "Shit I Found on the Sidewalk." This will provide many opportunities for mirth and happiness. If anyone out here in my vast readership finds and documents any sidewalk objects, please feel free to donate your item to the Collection. I will make sure you get full credit, or complete anonymity. Just email your donation to: violawoman09@gmail.com or homelessviola@gmail.com. 

I know we can have lots of fun with this and I look forward to this new project. Y'all have a good weekend, and in honor of our fighting men and women on this Veteran's Day, I leave you with this:

Here's to the babies in a brand new world
Here's to the beauty of the stars
Here's to the travellers on the open road
Here's to the dreamers in the bars

Here's to the teachers in the crowded rooms
Here's to the workers in the fields
Here's to the preachers of the sacred words
Here's to the drivers at the wheel

Here's to you my little loves with blessings from above
Now let the day begin
Here's to you my little loves with blessings from above
Now let the day begin, let the day begin

Here's to the winners of the human race
Here's to the losers in the game
Here's to the soldiers of the bitter war
Here's to the wall that bears their names

Here's to you my little loves with blessings from above
Now let the day begin
Here's to you my little loves with blessings from above
Let the day begin, let the day begin, let the day start

Here's to the doctors and their healing work
Here's to the loved ones in their care
Here's to the strangers on the streets tonight
Here's to the lonely everywhere

Here's to the wisdom from the mouths of babes
Here's to the lions in the cage
Here's to the struggles of the silent war
Here's to the closing of the age.

Here's to you my little loves with blessings from above
Now let the day begin
Here's to you my little loves with blessings from above
Let the day begin

Here's to you my little loves with blessings from above
Let the day begin
Here's to you my little loves with blessings from above
Now let the day begin, let the day begin, let the day start!

courtesy of: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/c/call/let+the+day+begin_20244281.html

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