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.