Tales From The Shelter – 14

The Jailbird is the token woman ex-prisoner on our floor.  She’s a charming character and bright as hell.  Her boyfriend is one of the ex-con guys here.  Two weeks ago the probation officers in the building put a ‘no contact order’ on them.  For no reason.  Jailbird went to her councillor and the councillor knew nothing about it, the probbie officers hadn’t told her and she was furious.  The councillor had the order rescinded but then the P.O.’s put a no contact order on the guy’s buddies.  Furor was had again.

Now, with only 4 days remaining until the boyfriend’s parole is over they went and put a no contact order on again.  Jailbird’s peeved as all hell and I don’t blame her.  She says it’s like that, that they test you to the max and if you snap, which is a likely occurrance, you’re back in prison starting all over again.  She says they’re nothing but guinea pigs in the sick system.

I still swear there’s petri dishes with rotting, molding spores of some type placed by the intake air ducts that go to our floors and are directed away from the first and second levels as well as the high and mighty 8th floor.

The Queen of the Carribean is still struggling with housing and immigration matters.  She only gets 3 months at the Silly before she has to find her own place.  To date they’ve presented her with shared accomodations in New Westminster and Surrey.  She turned them down, gee, I wonder why.  Her reading and writing skills aren’t the best but she’s a smart cookie, the big challenge being able to hold on to here until something suitable comes up.

Meantime , Retarded Martha is in a quandry because her boyfriend says he’s head over heels for her and the question of sex has come up.  She’s told a couple of the gals she’s not ready, despite their relationship of a few months now.  If she’s not ready, she’s not ready but the sorority gal dramas are just a bit too much.  If you get caught in conversation with her she’ll tell you all about her clothes and what she has in her room…this in addition to her personal philosophies that could be found in a grade 5 self help book.   Curly is ready to slug Martha but Curly knows that she’ll  have to settle for  a viscious verbal attack.

Yesterday I went to a Pro Bono lawyer over a con man ripping me off for my computer and a few other things.  Looks like I’ll have to go the route of small claims court, but the guy’s so versed in the system the lawyer said mr. rip-off will probably keep delaying the court date.  My best scenario is to get Conman’s welfare cheque garnisheed.  The fee for small claims court has risen from $100 to $250 so that keeps low life scums like myself out of the picture unless I want to slap it on my visa and take the chance I can even find the guy.  The law is for the rich, and it’s getting to be for the richer.

I’m being stubborn and not cracking into my yogurt for the acidophillus while I take the anti-biotics for my bladder infection.  Maybe I secretly like being sick because I can stay in my room and sleep alot and escape from the bullshit of being here.  Don’t know.  I do know that yesterday I was melancholy and wanted everything to be like it was before my ex kicked me out of the house and I ended up living in my vehicle.  The yearning was strong and I wanted to phone him and everything would be ok but that’s not a reality.  I’m eating toast this morning without my dentures in because I’m missing my old teeth when they were in good shape, before my meds started rotting them.  It hurts my gums but it’s good to taste what I’m eating.  The govenment cares fuck-all about oral hygene and has made cut backs in that department.  When are they going to cut their own selves back?  Bureacracy is like a beautiful hand sewn quilt to these political monsters, while it’s just a newspaper covering on a park bench to us low life scum sucking leeches.

Ugh…the young crack ho on our floor must have been into the drugs last night because her pancake makeup is about 3 inches thick, she does this to cover up her pale and peeked complextion the morning after and it makes you want to stay outside of three feet of her in case you run into her pancake and it smears against you.  Because she slipped she’ll be on the band wagon today about how her and her boyfriend are doing so well and don’t want their old drug life back together.  What a lark.  Meantime their 10 month old kid is in a foster home and they see her twice a week.

I’m going back to bed to watch some more of ‘The Naked Lunch”.  This film is beyond David Lynch but not quite past the fantasical minds of many of the workers and inmates here.

Tales From The Shelter – 13

Don’t get me wrong, those of us staying at the Silly are greatful to have a roof over our heads, and a clean one at that.  While most of the shelters have bed-bug protocol and you must shower and change into clothes they give you while ALL your belongings are being chemically sprayed, the Silly doesn’t do this, which leads me to believe they are sending something through the closed ventilation system.  How could so many get so sick so often?  Yes, it’s closed circulation but so are a lot of buildings…and the Silly very very rarely has bed-bugs show up.  So while we’re greatful, we’re no dummies either …something’s going on.

The Councillors and Admin are on the 2nd and 8th floors.  Staff doesn’t get sick very often.  OK, so why not?  Flu shots are mandatory for them, so are they being inoculated for more then just the average public?  Right now I don’t care too much, I just want to get over whatever damn bug it is I have.  GAWD, GIVE ME ENOUGH ENERGY TO GET OUT OF THIS BUILDING FOR A BIT!!!!!!

Retarded Martha’s boyfriend is moving out so now she’s seeking her own place.  Oh hallelujah, let the Silly Bells ring, we won’t have the two of them speaking to each other through the crack in the metal wall anymore.  We were starting to get desperate, they’re so loud and she’s making a point of telling us things  via her dialogue with him.  Everyone bolted to the park when this happened last night…I slept through from 5pm on so missed it.   We were thinking of investing in magnets for the wall and hoping she has an i.u.d. so we could slam her against it.  Desperation is the mother of some inventions.

Jailbird Janet is getting a student loan to become an x-ray technician.  She’s hilarious, a real good character.  Welfare won’t give her a cheque between now and when her loan comes through so she’s seething.  She’s a really really bright woman and was in the slammer for fraud and a few other things…she’s capable of doing way more then being an x-ray tech but just wants to get back into working and fast, so she’ll bare with the training time then move to greener pastures down the road.  Meantime she’s going to have to land on the bureauratic doorstep of just the right welfare case worker, and that door step is often well greased.  ”so long, see ya in the slide’.  Best of luck to her!

Of all the women here on my floor I’d have to say only three have been abusers of the welfare system…you know, the ones who lie around watching tv all day and mooching off of everyone else.  Fuck you, ladies, go eat your dollar store bon bons elsewhere.

Tales From The Shelter – 12

CONVENIENTLY CHRISTIAN

Retarded Marthas been very quiet lately…part of this is owing to her having a very bad cold, the other part is no one’s been speaking to her.  Maggy told Martha she was interupting a private conversation, in very terse terms, after Martha butted in, as usual.  I Actually responded to Martha for the first time in about 2 months when yesterday she asked me if I wanted a bag of chips.  The kitchen had flats of chips donated that expired at the beginning of the month, so that means they’re probably still good for another month yet.  I let Martha know that I was fine.

It’s typical that groups of people will take on one another’s expressions and I told Maggy she was saying, “but that’s ok”, just like Martha.  Maggy just about had a bird until I told her I was saying it too.  We’re doing a self awareness campaign on this now.

The other night, Thumper, a new and young woman came out onto the smoking deck.  Like Martha, she breezes in and starts taking over.  Fuck, she was complaining because her church group had set up at Vancouver’s infamous Pigeon Park, a long time hang out for derelicts, rubbies, junkies, and now crack and meth ho’s.  Thumper thought it was very rude that some men were drinking rubbing alcohol mixed with soda pop and were fighting while her church group had set up a band with sound amplification, and were pontificating how they could help them all through Jesus.

I don’t have anything against Mr. Nazareth, but Thumper and her kind just don’t cut the grade preaching their shit through micraphones, especially to the down and out.  From the other side, they’re thinking, ‘hurry up with your bullshit so we can hopefully get some food from you’.  Some of the down and outers are christian themselves but if you’re not ready for fixing, you’re not ready.

Here at the Silly the cult of Christianity lies in certain chaplains who offer resources not normally broadcast through regular channels.  Oh how wonderful…this means if you attend the sermons you’re bound to find out where a secret food bank or employment center is.  It becomes convenient to become christian….abide with their ways , become part of the fellowship, don’t fall into the bullshit brainwashing and you’ll get yourself along a bit further with saving money and gaining networking.

Thumper probably got sucked in this way, and thank gawd Maggy took her aside and told her to keep the Jesus thing off the smoking pit.

Most of us here are spiritual to some degree…the Silly seems to think the only path to spirituality is through Jesus.   I don’t think Mr. Nazareth would have wanted it this way, and people like Thumper and the chaplains probably have the age old image of him as white with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes.  They can’t stop to think he was middle eastern and probably had dark skin with dark, curly hair.

Retarded Martha’s been leaving the door to her room open these days under the auspices of getting air circulating in there.  I’m sure she wants people to take a gander and compliment her on it.  Martha is definetly not christian by convenience.  I think she needed some fellowship in her life that would accept her and one day she found it; but as I’ve said before she’s christan by rote.

I’m sick, I have a rotten cold.  Athir took me along to the dollar store today to get some items and the line up at the check out was long so i sat on a child’s plastic chair.  It shattered, so I kicked the bit against the wall and endured the line up instead.  Every single time I’ve gone out for a smoke today , Martha’s been there.  Having Athir take me out was good except I wish she’d brush her teeth more because her breathe stinks and it’s the kind that engulfs the air.  I’m just not happy these days and can find the smallest fault with anyone.   I need a vacation from here, like about a years worth.

I finally found out something more about this ill designed building, and that’s that the architect solely designs prisons.  Well fuck around, eh, no wonder everything’s so fucked up.

I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.

Tales From The Shelter – 11

NAPOLEANIC LAW

Last week I was told I may not be able to do healing treatments here.  My Councillor said the floor manager was aware that I do this sort of thing and thought it best for my own sake that I not do this as someone may make a claim against me, say, if they thought I hurt them or something.

It’s no secret I’m a healer in the First Nations tradition.  It is my gift, we all have our own gifts.  Sometimes the women ask me to take away their headaches, the aches and pains out of their necks and shoulders, stuff like that.  I do both hands on and hands off work.

I told my councillor that I’m not concerned about anyone coming back on me but perhaps this place is concerned they may be named in a libel suit if I was accused of something.  ”Oh no no no”, replied my councillor, that’s not it at all.  She said the manager said it’s probably against the rules and he’s looking over the rules.  This has been a real mind-fuck.

There’s 18 million rules here , in this place that plugs itself as non-judgemental.  Break a rule without knowing the rule existed and you are given shit.  Guility before proven innocent, Napoleanic Law.

So, the manager doesn’t like me doing God’s work – healing people – I guess he’s jealous and thinks you have to have a special piece of paper to do this , along with appropriate bible study.  Well, let’s see, Jesus was a healer and I don’t recall hearing anything about him having a diploma from the Nazareth School of Healing and Sea Parting.  So maybe the Silly can take a lesson from themselves, because it seems they’re always tripping up on themselves.

They have taken the confession booth away so it’s simpler and easier for people in the chapel to merely discuss with one another their sins and that the devil got into them , so they absolve themselves of any responsiblity.  Guess what?  They reserve that only for themselves, the little lambs following the Captains and Majors in marching rows, two by two.  So along comes a person like me and hey, I’m a sinner because I don’t know their rules but it’s my responsibility – huh?

Last week I went into the garbage/recycling room to get a cardboard box.  I got shit.  Why?  Because us tenants aren’t supposed to go in there.  Wait a minute…I let them know tenants go in there all the time.  They said that doesn’t matter, it’s off limits and I was basically bad.  This despite there’s no sign saying ‘keep out’ or ‘employees only’ or anything to that effect.

Guess I’m going to burn in hell.  Boy, this is some spiritual workplace, you know, what with them saying prayers before meetings…wow, that’s the creme de la creme of being spirtual on the job.  Hey, let’s get mad at the tenants for whatever we feel like , and damned if you talk back or put in a greivance becuase that can be grounds for getting kicked out.

So, yes, the devil made me do it but their judgements and rules seem to go against the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedom….so we’ll see what the manager has to say should he be able to dredge up such a rule on healing…my bet is if he broaches it again and I ask to see the hard copy, which is my right as a tenant, that that copy just isn’t going to show up.

Amen.

Tales From The Shelter – 10

At the Silly, you’re supposed to stay in a position of weakness, say, like a lamb.  This makes for good faux biblical posturing and keeps you in a state of servitude while the heirarchy plays God.  Their mission statement reads that they are non-judgemental, but that’s only as long as you stay in the field and go , ‘Baaaaaah’.  Signs of strength, like pointing out what may be oh-so-wrong here land you with threats of being kicked out.

Right now I’m on precarious grounds because it so happens I have the gift of healilng and help people out with all sorts of ailments like back aches, sore knees, headaches etc..   My councillor told me the manager says I’m not supposed to be doing that here as it’s against the rules and for my own benefit.  I asked how this would be for my benefit and was told that someone might complain that I hurt them or a treatment didn’t turn out right and damaged them somehow.  I said I was fine, that I’d been doing this for a long time and the closest any came to being hurt was because they were silly enough to move their neck around while i was working on it.

My councillor told me the manager thinks this is against the rules and he’s looking through the book.  I said I thought that perhaps the true concern lay with the Silly as they were afraid of liability.  She denied this.

So why, in a place that says it’s non judgemental , would they want to stop someone from doing the work of God (God in their terms).   Call it what you want, energy work, Creator coming through me, whatever…..all I know is a higher power comes through me and people feel better, they’re pain taken away.  How would I know the answer to this and why would I even bother to question much about it…I would drive myself up the wall so I just accept it.

But if the Silly is a house of God , are they jealous or afraid because their spiritual enlightenment is not as  advanced as mine?  I tread on delicate water here as don’t want to sound like I am in some sort of advanced position, perhaps it’s best I say that I have discovered how to tap into a level of energy that most people have not reached.  It’s not a big deal, but don’t tell me I cannot heal people in your building, your building which sits on unceded First Nation’s territory, and not use First Nation’s ways to help people.  This brings us back to the concept of conquering, oppression, and genocide.  Really, it’s not much different from how Residential Schools operated.

Meantime The Six Nation Lacrosse Team has been denied passage to Great Britain using Iroquois issued passports to play in a tournament.  They are told they have to use ‘Canadian’ passports.  Why?  Lies are told, like how every person in this nation is Canadian.  OH?  And since when did the conquering of a people make them nationals of the conqueror, that’s what I want to know because this country still does not adhere to Queen Ann’s Royal Order of the early 1,700′s which says all First Nations must be dealt with on a nation to nation basis , with a third, neutral party included.  This has never happened, never taken place, making Canada a nation in fraud and treason unto itself.

I’ll wander around the councillor floor today to see if the manager has found the ‘rule’ that says I cannot do healings here.  This could be interesting.

Meantime, retarted Martha has a new friend, for now, and the woman is strong and talks over Martha instead of the vice versa.  I cannot thank myself enough for telling Martha she is not to speak to me…it’s like avoiding toxic shock syndrome because really, she’s like a used tampon or something.  I know it sounds gross, but she is gross…perhaps not by any doing of herself, but she’s staying in self denial as isn’t ready to look at herself, perhaps because her childhood was too heinous.

Welfare Wednesday , or Mardi Gras as it’s called, falls on this Wednesday.  The sirens will be going all night, the crack-heads spending their cheques in one fell swoop, the welfare recipients looking like vultures for the persons on disability because we get slightly more.  It’s also the start of the Festival of Fireworks, so I’m sure the crackheads will somehow have an augmented high….imagine, paying $20 for a piece of rock that will get you high for 10 minutes.

That’s fucked.

Tales From The Shelter – 9

When it got too cold last year to live in my van anymore I turned to a homeless shelter.  I can’t remember how I found out about it, but I lost my shelter innosense there.  It’s hard to write right now as my evening meds have kicked in and i’m working my way through mud and tar.

I made a big step today…having completed a Silly Ann volunteer project I felt confident enough that I can re-enter the work place.  There are different outfits that handle ‘persons with disabilities’ and went to one my Silly councillor recommended.  During the intake I cried a lot.  Everything surfaced about where I am in life – living in a shelter, no work, collecting disability, and those ever pervading messages from childhood that say I’m stupid.

Next up was a visit to a center for persons with disability but they really couldn’t help me with anything.  I think the job re-entry program merely sends people to various places to make it feel like they care about you…this seems common in the world of homeless bureaucracy.  I’d like to send them all the moon.

Going to the second outfit produced more tears and I do believe my tears were more like blood.  Why don’t these people just cut you open with a knife?  I know it’s not the individual’s fault  but Christ, the paperwork is endless and today i felt like everything was hopeless.

Back at the Silly Retarded Martha was speaking to the crack in the wall on the smoking pit that seperates the men from the women.  She has a crush on one of the guys and actually went out with one of them for a while.  I’m going to guess he dumped her because if they ever pooled enough for a hotel room she probably talked all the way through sex.  ”your a little too far over, but that’s ok because my personal God will take care of that”.

A guy’s been coming around selling cigarrettes in packs for $5.  He claims he was part of the demo crew for a restaraunt and store that burned down so grabbed the smokes.  He says he wants to sell them to us as realizes we don’t have much money.  Everyone is talking about how nice it is of him to do this.  I figure he’s chosen the right market because what else is he going to do with them?  Walk East Hastings whispering , ‘cigarrettes’…no, I doubt it.  Or wait for kids going in to the 7-11?  NO!  A homeless shelter is pretty safe because no ones going to squeal on him.  I bought a pack but it tastes like burned building.

I also got to meet the drug sniffing dog that comes here and her owner.  He said he is contracted out for $150/ hour and it cost $10,000 to have the dog and him trained in the U.S.A..  The dog is a german shepard but the owner said beagles and shelties are used a lot at places like airports where it’s not good to freak out the people.  Bomb-sniffing dog outfits get paid $300/hour.  He says dogs are in big demand.

I’m tired and the day was weird.  Besides the big step to registering to get job retraining, a woman on our floor was all freaked out as a bad man wanted me to pick up her furniture and some of her belongings.  She finally calmed down but i can hear through the wall now that she’s on the phone and being all freaked out again.

Over and out.

Tales From The Shelter – 8

The mix of people staying at the Silly Ann Hotel is varied.  Most have some sort of mental illness or mood disorder and are recovering addicts.  I’m a mood disorder, but it gets lumped in with mental illness.  We’re a dime a dozen and of the $925 I get monthly for disability , $375 goes to the Silly Ann.  Where their real bread comes from is the men who just got out of prison, especially the violent or sexual crime ones….that hovers over $5,000 a month.   Female prisoners only allot the Silly $1, 700.   Men prisoners are given $70/week (month living allowance, women are given straight welfare at $235/month.  Make sense, sound fair…nuh uh.

You can tell who the pedophiles and rapists are….they just plain look creepy.  No kidding.  It gets confirmed by the women inmates, and they are boiling mad about it.  No wonder.  There’s children here.  And women.  The peds eye up the kids in the cafeteria , it’s sickening.  Generally the guys don’t know the  rapists or ped’s – it would be too hard for them to contain themselves and blood would spill on the floors of the Silly.

the Hotel thrives on donations and government money; I think they’ve gone too far.  There should  be seperate housing for these sickos , in fact there should be a seperate, isolated island, well patrolled, with some survival tools like axes, gardening equipment, and that’s about it.  No guards.  Just patrolling ships.  Oh ya, and let’s not forget castration, although a guy can still get hard.  Maybe a quick Bobbitt would do too.

Money.  It’s at the hand of almost everything.  The Silly is no exception.

Tales From The Shelter – 5 or 6

My memory seems to be getting better and worse at the same time.  I don’t know if that’s a menopause thing , aging in general, or if I could chalk it up to medications.

It’s Canada Day today and Maggie hauled me out to Canada Place to see some festivities, which included live music, Coast Guard rescue stuff and throngs of people.  We lost each other, which was fine because I was happy lifting various gun and shell shooters , trying on an army helmut and sad because the line ups for the mock flight cockpit and tank were too long. Maggie had a beer and I think she was aiming for more then that.

Retarded Martha is happy because she went to another ‘fake uncle dying funeral’.  She got to ask and get attention about what to wear to her uncle’s funeral, but I remembered she said her uncle died a couple of months ago.  I think she likes the attention from the people in the building here, plus then actually goes to a funeral, not knowing the deceased, and eats all the food at the reception.  No doubt she has a few packs of Fairmont Hotel matches with her and tells everyone she lives in Point Grey.  And just how many people would really care?  I suppose one is enough for Martha.

I can’t say I was a genuine participant of Canada Day…I went to get out of the building , otherwise it’s just a foolish and harmful celebration because there isn’t really a Canada, it’s comprised of unceded First Nations land and Rule of Law has never been followed regarding Queen Ann’s Royal Order, making Canada in fraud and treason unto itself.  There’s no country to celebrate, but that’s too difficult for some to digest and ever since Sheila Copps handed out Canadian flags a decade ago we look as patriotic as U.S. citizens….not quite the hoopla of the forth of July, but good enough for a quieter bunch.

Rachel just got housing.  That means she’s outta here and I am happy about that.  She must be hard of hearing as has the loudest voice in the world.  She is also the type who puts ‘honey’ or ‘sweety’ into her sentences when she addresses someone, and that’s just plain annoying as comes across as so patronizing.  I told her not to do that – firmly – she’s taken heed.

Every time she mentions she’s Jewish I want to cringe.  What, what does this mean that she’s Jewish?  How does her being Jewish fit into life in a bloody building for the homeless anymore then someone being Catholic or Muslim or Buddhist?  Just be Rachel, that’s all.  We know you’re Jewish.

The egos of some easily adopt expressions and sayings as their own, and with Rachel it has always been to the point where the comments of others get claimed by her, so she’s repeating what we said to ourselves, only it’s as though she made them up herself.   I recommend two humility tablets and call me in the morning.

We were dissapointed last night that we couldn’t see the Canada Day fireworks from our smoking balcony.  We expected at the very least to be able to see the reflection in some of Vancouver’s abysmally architected buildings of glass and cement but the only real shot we got other then some flashes of white light were when the glass in the steeple of the Catholic church across the way reflected a dazzling red that spoke of Satan.  We laughed but somehow it was creepy.

Earlier in the day I rode my bike along Granville Street, in the blocks that restrict traffic.   It’s wonderful having this length of road for pedestrians , cyclists and boarders only.   There were strips of artificial lawn taped down in several spots and I asked a city sanitation worker what they were for.  The young man said he didn’t know, but guessed they had something to do with the Canada Day Parade.  I said , “maybe people will stop there and drag their asses just like dogs do when they have worms’.  He didn’t laugh.

I had two sparklers someone gave me and we lit them while the fire works were on, and lit our lighters and waived them in the air.  There’s something very strange about a group of mostly recovering addicts living in a building for the homeless , paying some kind of hommage to Canada.  I guess we can think , ‘At least this isn’t Haiti” or something like that, but to live in a nation of richness where a province has cut services like physio therapy and dental to the needy and a city who is turning housing dedicated to the homeless that was constructed for the Olympic Athletes into market housing because the property is too valuable is all a bit bizarre.

As Stehpen Harper searches for a new Governor General, I hope he doesn’t appoint another Michaelle Jean.  She just does not like First Nations and chooses her own people over the country she was supposed to act as liason for the Queen to.  Wonder if ER II realizes the errs of Ms. Jean?  The Queen is in the country as I write this, maybe we could get her to adopt some abused corgies from the home of an upper class cruelty farm for animals and children?  Then she could bring them to visit all the children Stephen and Laureen have adopted from women in developing nations who couldn’t afford abortions.  It would be a fun day; they could have tea and biscuits together and praise the almighty lord Jesus.  Maybe Jesus would show up with a rescue cat.

Tales From The Shelter – 6

It’s the day after ‘Mardi Gras’, ‘Welfare Wednesday’.  People here at the Silly Man Hotel who actively use but somehow get around the high barrier have their excuses already – “I had to get my phone out of the pawn shop’…’I got mugged’.  Right, more like you are a fucking crack-head and blew it all on rock.  No, I will not give you a cigarette, no I will not lend you money.

My new tattoo has healed but I’m going to have to get them to go over it again.  Damn.  Some things aren’t working right and one is my passwords for most of my computer logins.  I just took my supper time medications and blew it by taking my bedtime meds instead.  Great, now I’ll fall asleep in half an hour and wake up at 3am.

Retarded Martha had the gaul to sit at the same table as me at lunch time.  At least she didn’t go on with her ‘Christian by rote’ theme.  ’My own personal God is taking care of me, and that’s o.k., because you know, I have found that by consulting the bible at any time I’m feeling really down , I can just be lifted again.  You know, it’s kind of like just believing and knowing.  There’s many times I wanted to give in to something but experience has taught me that giving in to God is the way to go’.  Shut the fuck up.

Maggie keeps working on her lawsuit against a University she worked for.  They fired her after she discovered huge financial discrepancies, only the U. doesn’t know who their bargaining with.  I think it’s going to get settled out of court, just the way I feel.

I went on the internet forum of Baltaine Island and one of it’s biggest ego’s was posting trash.  He can’t take his own medicine though, yet just another baby man.  I’m getting tired of people and want a knife , the progress being that it’s not for me, it’s to stab them.  That’s how I’m feeling, like I’m too old to keep running into and dealing with these types of personalities.  Fortunetly I don’t want their stinky, sticky blood on me so I’d never do it.

G-8, G-20, G-whiz.  Fuckers in expensive clothing.  Strip them down and they’re no better then the crackheads.  Here’s a rock for ya, Stephen Harper!!!

I’m not in a good mood.

Tales From The Shelter – 5

My shrink is in West Van and I braved the seabus and bus today to reach her.  It was an uneventful hour with me mostly complaining about my living situation…after all, I have to have SOMEONE to bitch at; us residents can only go so far with humour, cynasim and sarcasm.  Some type of greatfullness has to be expressed to make the situation seem better, to cover your ass lest word leak to the powers that be, and it does untwist the mind somewhat, from an oppressive lifestyle.

The shelter seems to be more punitive in reaction to suggestions and complaints, revealing that their spiritual components only reach as far as chapel service and the fellowship gained from taking their courses.  Big Brother, in this case, seems to be gender confused, for one, and the hierarchy top heavy with religion and business.  The model simply doesn’t work and for us who speak out, we are put on monthly review over extensions rather then the 3 months alloted to the lemmings (or the clever as it may be).

Homeless women have never been a part of this organization until a couple of years ago.  They don’t quite seem to know what to do with us but do enjoy nipping us in the bud, so to speak.  What is this, mind-clitectomy or something?  I’m not sure.

Retarded Martha and Jay the Jew were conferring in the smoke pit this morning.   Martha’s finally found  a snotty buddy, the two of them can understand each other as we are beneath them and knew middle class before falling from grace.  We’re all quite happy they’ve discovered each other as aren’t interested in speaking with either.  I admit to getting satisfaction last night by moving things around in the smoke pit…a chair over here, an ashtray over there, just to see if it would rile Martha’s obsessive compulsive disorder.  Not a move back or peep from her mouth, darn.

If I could look out my window I’d be happier.  But they’ve placed a frosting on it with circles you can peer out of if you stand up close to it.  Why did the architects want to create this prison-like window buffoonery?

Supper is being served shortly…chicken burgers with onion rings.  I’ll go down and collect my portion then bring it upstairs along with delivering Manna’s to her.  It’s been two weeks since she’s been out of her room but I got her walking down the hall a bit today.  I’ll tell you more about her later, I don’t want to talk about her right now.

Gordon Campbell, rot in hell.

Tales From The Shelter – 4

“Connie” has left us.  For two months she had her bags packed and everyday she would say she was leaving.  ’Connie’ is short for conspiracy theorist; her tales of mics and cameras in her room and the gps chip in her dentures were grating on us, to the point where we’d be talking to the walls on the smoke deck just to put some humour in it.  As it stands there are cameras throughout the building but they’re visible and there’s the obligatory warning sign when you enter the place.

We couldn’t figure out if Connie is schizophrenic or perhaps has cocaine or some other drug induced paranoia.  As one woman said, ‘I’m too old to worry about if anyone’s watching me.  Ditto.  While any outfit would risk they’re very everything for illegal electronic gossip gathering, we are still in the age of neuvo-macarthyismso while there’s every probability there’s no hidden mics or cameras, there’s always this sliver that can get into your psyche and make you wonder, “Well…”.  Life is stressful enough here, living in close quarters with just about all of us having some sort of mood disorder or mental illness.  Hell, I think it would be stressful even if that weren’t the case.   We all have our Samsonite.

The summons officer finally caught up to me yesterday and presented me with my swack of unpaid parking tickets.  The total is around $1,400 and I had to go to City Hall today to find out what to do to dispute them.  I parked in the parking lot there , it was the kind where you’re supposed to pay a twoonie or two and place the ticket on your dashboard.  I couldn’t help myself and didn’t pay.

My next step is to go to court September 14th and plead not-guilty, although I find that a strange word as from my persepective there doesn’t exist guilt or non-guilt in this case.  It’s simple: Vancouver is on unceded Squamish Nation Territory and Vancouver has no authority to issue me a ticket.  The ‘case’ actually belongs in the Supreme Court of Canada but we’ll see what the judge says about that.  I’m guessing I’ll be let down and have my case dismissed.

I’m too tired to write much tonight.  Once again the never ending virus has hit me.  Today I learned that one of the maintenance men got the virus and I’m happy about that, not because he’s sick, but because perhaps management will finally start taking us seriously.  Management seems to have a dismissive and flippant attitude towards our complaints…like when I brought up that the cleaner we use on our floor should not be in a spray bottle as Materials Safety Data lists it as hazourdous to inhale.  I suggested a $2 bottle that has a lid and not a spray top, but instead they decided to stop supplying us with cleaner.

Oppression.  Everywhere.  Institutional living.  Eugenics.  Thing is , they aren’t aware of their behavior and attitudes because it’s all a part of the system.  And so they pray to forgive everyone and themselves (because they said ‘shit’ or ‘hell’ that day) and pergatory remains on earth.

Good night and Goddess bless.

Tales From the Shelter – 3

MARBLEGATE

‘Retarded Martha Stewart” drives everyone up the wall.  Everyone.  Besides her incessant chatter and talking ‘at you’ not ‘with you’, she preaches about ‘her personal gawd’ …she’s a christian bot, and under all her superficiality is one sick puppy.

I bought some marbles from the dollar store with my last pay cheque…i don’t have substance abuse problems so can stretch my cheque a little further then some.  Marble.  Good fun, reminder of youth , recalling cat-eyes, steelies and the such.  I placed them outside on a table on the smoking deck.  the table was make-shift….Retarded Martha had an empty , black plant pot out there that looked like a cremation urn.  A fake silver tray made the table top.  There the marbles sat.

The next morning I came out for my constitutional smokes and the ashtray was gone, along with the marbles.  I lifted the silver tray and there was the ashtray.  After lifting the ashtray up , there were the marbles mixed in with cigarette buts…a dirty little mess.

Someone tipped me off that Martha had done this while muttering something about ‘people’s crap’, so i confronted her.  Martha’s eye go total bug when she’s afraid or on the defense.  I’m thinking it must be an allergic reaction to her perfume, which smells like insect repellant.  She told me Doreen had done it, I said bullshit, and Martha said to bring Doreen right to her.

retarded martha spends her days walking.  She walks from downtown to west vancouver or kerrisdale, the neighbourhood she brags having lived in (some kinda living, she looked after an old man, moved herself in, took over, and the daughter had to have her removed).  nevertheless, kerrisdale is her ‘mark’, her status, albeit a false one.  Martha goes into high end hotels en route and gets free coffees and hones in on special lunches, pretending she’s a guest.  she gets very aggressive and i’m sure the quest host people give her stuff just to keep her quiet.  She was going to a travel service business everyday that offers it’s clients free coffee….they finally got tired of her and started charging her a dollar so she quit.  I can see her there though, sitting with her legs crossed, her bleached blonde hair taking over the room, and giant teeth ready to chomp anything.

i see her rattling on to the clients and workers, “you know, i worked through something yesterday and my god forgave me .  And that’s ok, you know, because i remember my chaplain reading a bible passage’ …………and on and on and on.

I told our ward’s supervisor about marblegate and she was holding her seething in.  I informed her I told martha i am not speaking to her and to never speak to me.  The supervisor said to leave it at that.  Ever since, Martha can’t help herself and her guilt comes out in a heartfelt voice with things like, “hello, scout’  or ‘i’m sorry i hurt you, scout’.  hurt?  nuh uh, i got a demonstration in her sickness and don’t want to be around it, that’s all, pretty simple call if you ask me.  But Martha continues to perplex our floor.  She saunters onto the deck while everyone’s talking about something , wanting to know if we can see her bra under her top.  Or her panties under her shorts.  Or she wears her white dressing gown and sits with her legs up, secretly moving the housecoat back and down to expose as much thigh as she can.  why….to us?

the table and chairs on the patio belonged to martha and in a snit over marble gate she removed them and took them to her room.  it was hideous watching her wrestle with one of the white plastic chairs , brining it out from her room onto the deck so she could sit on it while she smoked, then bringing it back in with her when she was done.  it was like the kid in grade one who always had to bring some huge thing to show and tell.

martha came out to the deck yesterday while i was discussing stephen harper’s move to host an international conference on women and children and divulge that canada would not give monetary support for abortions in developing nations.  i said i would like to see mr. harper adopt some children from one of these nations….he’s rich, he could take in about 10 or so, right?  I mean really, what does Laureen have to do besides addressing oppressive ‘real women’ groups and being a manequin in helping to strip our rights?   martha got up, i’m sure she went to the chapel to pray for me.

everything’s all complicated right now with some women moving out to Hope House, the Armie’s next housing stage.  It’s bachelor digs, downtown eastside , and not QUITE all independant living as it’s high barrier and i’m told some of the front desk clerks can be nazis.

My marbles are back on the deck for anyone to play with. Martha, stay away!

The supervisor has moved Martha’s volunteer duties to another floor in an attempt to sqelch an all out war against this sick piece of work.  Life by rote must be difficult and I’m sorry she’s this insecure and probably had a shitty childhood and all but comes a point and I ain’t gonna let her put her illlness on me.  Marbles over Martha anyday.

Tales From the Shelter – 2

“Rock, powder, down.  Rock, powder, down”.  There’s something strangely melodic yet dissonant about the dealers cry of crack, cocaine or heroine.  It’s a lonely tune yet somehow devised, whether haphazardly or on purpose, to lure the craving and lonely into the den.

Soundsscapes along Vancouver’s infamous Main and Hastings (Pain and Wastings) blocks blend or rip , depening on the dealer or what’s being sold.  ”Rock, powder, down” is whispered, a lull, while ‘cigarettes’ comes at a few decibels louder.  ”Ssssssig a rettesssssss”.  A young woman with a skirt up to her crotch is bending and flexing while rapping out, “I gotta clean pussy, gotta gotta, clean pusssssy”.   All the while I walk up and down , checking out what the boosters are selling in hopes of finding some remnants of goods stolen from my van by some crazy, tweeking crackhead fucker.

“It’s the drug, not the person” I have to remind myself.  A middle aged man who looks 65 stares at me, I suppose he’s thinking I’m a cop or something of the likes, but no, he says “Rock, powder, down”.  I suppose he was eyeing me up for just the right timing to ask, then again I don’t know that the people down here are that sophisticated;  desperation, survival and addiction seems to have taken most to ground zero in human existance.   Meantime we send money to Haiti for earthquake victims knowing most of the money gets spent on transportation and fat ass officer’s salaries, with the troops receiving less then poverty wages.  Is something just oh-too-wrong?

I’m still walking and hating these scabbed, skinny people…they stole from me.  I’m forgetting it’s the system that creates the pain they hold in the first place.  But then again, I overcame my childhood abuses and am not an addict…am I lucky , because the economic status of your parents doesn’t seem to make any difference to my fellow shelter dwellers.

“We are the evidence, not the crime”.  I must remember how John Doe looks at me – a toothless rat on disability with no cast to give a visual reminder of my disability.  Perhaps I should go to the pharmacy and buy an elastic wrap for my head and put fake blood on it…bipolar isn’t a visible impairment.

No sign of any of my stuff.  I did spot my tool box one day but the cops weren’t into helping.  They said they’d ‘try’ to send someone down and to keep my phone on if i was going to wander elsewhere.  I spotted two beat cops across the street, thinking they were ‘my men’.  Turns out they had not been contacted by dispatch so they radioed, things were explained to them and they told me they’d get on it but had another call to do first, so it would probably be in an hour.

An hour standing here?  Nope.  Dragged my ass home after first being verbally assaulted by a contract flag person who yelled, “Come on, hurry up or you’ll get your fat ass runover”.  I couldn’t hurry, I was carrying bags and slow from depression.  As i passed her she shoved me.  I yelled, “Fuck you!”, she yelled the same back.  Once I was curbside I took some pictures of her on my camera…knowing that if I didn’t have the energy to persue getting her sorry ass fired , it would at least stress her out for a few days.  What’s that called, passive revenge or something?

A few days passed and no police had gotten a hold of me so I called them.  They said they sent an officer but I wasn’t there.  I said I had a phone and they have my number so didn’t understand the problem, especially because the cops had no description for me…I reported in by phone.   After a slurry of phone calls I finally landed on a web site that has a pdf form for police complaints.  At last!  Well, not to be because while the pdf appeared to be portrait print, it was actually landscape and I ended up with a chopped up form.  Maybe another day, maybe another day I’ll print it out correctly.

And all I can think about all this is, “Fuckers”.

Tales From The Shelter 1

Nancy is a soft spoken woman.  I barely know her but she asked me if I could go with her to the police today as emotional support.  I didn’t know the circumstances, save to say she had told me one day she had been raped a few times in her life.  I agreed to it because we had formed a bond after she made a first Nations drum and when i saw it I gave her some sage, cedar and sweetgrass.  Consequently she had asked me to be present with her when she took the drum to the beach to smudge it and give it it’s birth.

I waited outside the library for her and was glad I put my sunglasses on as the fellow at the next bench was from one of the shelters I had stayed in and I really didn’t need anymore ‘egos du jour’, having had my fill of them in today’s Sally Ann courses.

Nancy finally caught up to me and we went to the cop shop, a young officer ushering us into the same room I had been in a few months prior when I had to identify the pork-headed arse who assaulted me in one of the shelters.  Oh, hello, did I mention I’m homeless?

The cop asked Nancy some basic questions and went over that he would be turning on a camera to record everything.  While Nancy was soft spoken she was not demure and surprised me when, after the cop asked her to describe the relationship she had with the man she wanted a restraining order for, she replied , “We fucked”.

The cop wanted to know if she had given her consent and Nancy said, “It was a fabricated reality.  He gave me drugs, when he was high and I was high he wanted to fuck and sometimes I wanted to fuck but  because he’s the one who fabricated the reality then my realilty of pulling back or saying no had no meaning to him”.

I don’t think the cop understood what she meant but at this point in proceedings it didn’t matter because Nancy was still traumatized and trying to navigate through denial, nightmare, hell and society’s very decay.   That she had even made it as far as the cop shop was a miracle , an act of braveness not everyone takes.   While the young officer was sensitive , he could only work as far as a cop can under laws, procedures and regulations that are not meant for the healthy, let alone the marginalized and disenfranchized.

“He took all my money.  This was after I bought us a tent when we got kicked out of the shelter.  I had no one to trust, no one, but he was there for me in a fucked up way because all he wanted was a stoned me and fucking.  We even asked the cops where we could camp but they pointed out places that were too far away for accessing facilities like mental health, food and pharmacies.  So then he dragged me to an alley downtown.  We even fucked in the alley.  This wasn’t me.  I like fucking but not when I’m high and not in back alleys.

The cop turned off the camera as thought things had wound down but just as he did that, Nancy became more coherent.  Afterwards, in my van, she said that she didn’t quite realize that everything had to be dealt with on a logical basis when it came to the law and that there is  no law for the emotions.  She said she couldn’t see this before as had been healing but by healing, only working with the emotions.

I told Nancy there was an article in the Georgia Straight by a woman who advises that mothers don’t put their sons in hockey as rape occurs so often, not just with boys but man on man action too, to give a slight porn tilt to the facts.  This woman says we live in a rape society.  She’s right.  From phallic missiles to drilling for oil by sticking diamond tipped drills into Mother Earth,  we rape everyday , everything.  The prick rules while the vagina is culled from the frey as a pussy , twat, or cunt.  Perhaps many men ultimatley wants to have a dink so big he can fuck himself up his own ass.

We drove along East Hastings, slowly, as I wanted to see if anything that had been stolen out of my van by ass nose crackheads may be being boosted.  I doubted it as it had been a few weeks already, but there was that little shred of hope.

Parked in front of the Sally Ann hotel, I ran in to grab a few things before moving the van to the parkade’s ‘random rooftop parking’ deal , but came out to find the fucking bylaw officer had had it towed.  Christ!

“So you see, Gordy, the longer you stare into the crystal ball, the more the lizards will come to help us out.  It’s a thing of beauty!”

“Why, why, Mister Prime Minister, you’re right….I can see now why it was a better deal then I thought by signing on the to HST in lieu of federal money given to the Olympics.  Pardon me, I have to weep”.

Jesus On Facebook

Jesus on Facebook? Hilarious!

The Finance Minister Falls Short…literally

Oh ya!  These guys are really on the ball!

Say No More, Say No More…

Really….no I mean, REALLY.  Say no words.  Just gander at this pitiful spectacle of Steve waiving down at the Paralympic Ceremonies, with  virtually no one looking at him or giving a damn.  Makes ya wonder, doesn’t it?

Hell, I don’t need photoshop with gems like this!!!

Photoshop Gonzo

It’s been November since my laptop was ripped off and I bought a used one the other week…..one problem….i do not have Photoshop anymore to make our fearless leaders look ridiculous.

I’ve been searching around for free downloads of older versions but man oh man, these sights are either fake or for the free trial.  SOOOOOOOOooooooooo….if anyone has any suggestions that won’t cost me money, hey, I’m open!

Olympic Snapshots

Oh the crowds, the whooping and hollering, the silent suffering.

From coca-cola red and the Canadian Flag , to me lighting my ciggy off the torch that was inaccesable, to ‘smudge busking’ and meeting cool people, to more crowds, a golf-cart paramedic vehicle to navigate the streets (and sidewalks) quickly, to an ATM machine made portable on a van (pic missing, facebook stole it), to replica Hudson Bay blanket coats with courier du bois sash (the same blankets implanted with small pox to kill off indigenous peoples…genocide fashion), to a yankee flag cape being able to walk safely, to Vancouver’s Olympic Tent City and the displaced and disenfranchised hired to keep the streets clean of litter and swoop up the beer and pop cans (another facebook theft), to crowds watching the rows of tv’s in places like London Drugs, to endless lineups for the Hudson Bay as the ‘official Olympic fashion wear’, to a cherry tree in full blossom making this literally the greenest olympics (B.C. Hydro won some prize for being green yet were handing out made in
China plastic goodies, and proclaiming the
Premier’s bullshit that hydro is a renewable resource.

From there to the choc a block shelters of matts on the floor with no gender segregtation, to the extreme weather bullshit piece of legislature to clean up the streets of the homeless, to the thousands from other provinces staying in shelters and not finding work at the promise of olympic dream paradies, to the pure exciting energy coupled with the tension of rcmp choppers with guns in the air.

was it worth it?  how can anyting that so erodes and ignores social infrastructure be worth it?  The fallout is coming ….will we really see the big bucks made by a few trickle down to everyday common life???

Let’s keep the summer olympics in
Athens and find a perma home for the winter olympics with each participating nation coughing up money for facilities and maintenance…should it be based on a percentage of the gross national product???