I love my dad Harry, don't get me wrong! Well...I love his memory is probably more accurate I guess. He's been gone these last 20 years. SHIT I'D LIKE A COFFEE DATE!
I don't think Harry had a ton of confidence in me as a kid. I don't hold it against him, but I felt that I never REALLY measured up. I mean he wasn't cruel or anything, he just never really said that he was proud of me you know? Must be "the English way".
He taught me how to ride a bike and he showed me how to respect women. That man loved my mum...no question! NOTHING came before my mum in his life. Nothing came before Harry in mum's life. That's damned near magic pixie dust shit right there. They must have communicated?
However they decided to "be married" it worked.
Death parted them.
Growing up, I was never encouraged to GO FOR IT whether it was a drivers licence, traveling, a job or anything risky.
In fact, to this day, mum worries about me riding my motorbike, living on my own, my wanting to ride my bike to Guatemala...
She'd rather I sit indoors with the curtains drawn and the doors locked. I only do that when bouts of deep depression freezes my heart and brain.
I get it! Mums worry. After all, I'm "her baby".
Mum was protective! I get that!
But so far, in my life, a few people have chided in with acidic negativity that I believed.
In the not to far away past, I've been told that everything I set out to do, I fail. That was a lie.
I've been told that everything I start, I don't finish. That's a lie.
I've been told that I'd be better off "not risking it" That's a lie.
I've been told that I'd never amount to anything. That's a lie.
You (we) must weigh this sort of information though mustn't you? Good God! If friends and family utter these words...shouldn't we listen?
My first reaction is to "turtle" because the vitriol comprised in the words seep deep into the soul...
However, a sober, sane pause might lend clarity to the moment. (ignore throat lump, think about it)
Was the oracle delivered by a sane person?
Was it delivered by a wounded person?
Was it delivered by a person in authority over you?
Was it given by a bully?
Was it said by someone you respect that doesn't respect you?
So much to consider.
Let's not exclude passionate words that can't be taken back!
You can tell that I work with adolescent humans that are in the care of the Ministry can't you?
All this to say...
NO MATTER WHO YOU'RE SPEAKING TO...
NO MATTER YOUR RELATIONSHIP...
NO MATTER HOW LONG YOU'VE KNOWN EACH OTHER...
Whether you're pissed off, wounded or feeling smugly superior...think before you speak.
Because that person you're facing just might believe you...
Peace
Sunday, August 21, 2016
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Living by fiction
NEWS it has been said, is the original idea of the gathering of information from areas North East West and South. It is stories brought by runner, horseback, falcon, smoke signal, beacons, radio, telephone, television, internet.
Good News seems to be passe' and always gets trumped by the ugly bad News. I don't know what it is that causes humanity to cling to the bad News forgoing the good but every succesful (if I can use the definition) News agency knows this.
A quick look at any American feed reveals a macabre narrative of all the wrongs from everywhere on Earth...converging into perpetual questions: Can it happen here? Are we safe?
Canadian feeds are quickly catching up with the trend too.
CBC for example, is quick to give the headline with little deep information and no follow-up.
So I ask the question: Why our "train wreck" mentality?
What is it that causes us to create 45 minute traffic jams as we pass an accident but blast past waterfalls, vista points and wild green spaces with nary a care?
Are we really in that much need of misery that we'll forfeit joy?
Can we only relate to agony and heartbreak because we too quickly have forgotten all of the good, timely blessings life tossed our way?
Donald Trump's latest speech was full of hate, anger, fear and "vitriol" ( currently my favourite word which is new to me) to which legions of his followers cheered and jumped about. He chooses a frightening way to ralley the masses, but it works!
Trump KNOWS that too many people have a need to cling to a victim mentality* forgoing any other characteristic of self identy. Many of us cling to Global bad news and agony in our lives, make it our narrative and stupidly set it up as a sextant by which to travel. I shake my head.
I work around a lot of hurting people that are gripped in addiction, mental health issues, poverty and disease and many of these people STILL NOTICE JOY!
I look at a lot of local News. I look at foreign web sites to keep myself "in the know" so as to relate to my fellow human in their suffering and JOY!
This exercise has often helped me to be available to help others when called upon as if I know what they're going through.
In saying that, I must refresh myself outdoors away from all of that bad news.
So heres the application:
Cling to all that is good, learn from the not-so-good and go out of your often way to help someone else in word and deed.
Peace
* Victim mentality is an acquired (learned) personality trait in which a person tends to regard him or herself as a victim of the negative actions of others, and to behave like it were the case—even in the absence of clear evidence. It depends on habitual thought processes and attribution.
-Wiki
Good News seems to be passe' and always gets trumped by the ugly bad News. I don't know what it is that causes humanity to cling to the bad News forgoing the good but every succesful (if I can use the definition) News agency knows this.
A quick look at any American feed reveals a macabre narrative of all the wrongs from everywhere on Earth...converging into perpetual questions: Can it happen here? Are we safe?
Canadian feeds are quickly catching up with the trend too.
CBC for example, is quick to give the headline with little deep information and no follow-up.
So I ask the question: Why our "train wreck" mentality?
What is it that causes us to create 45 minute traffic jams as we pass an accident but blast past waterfalls, vista points and wild green spaces with nary a care?
Are we really in that much need of misery that we'll forfeit joy?
Can we only relate to agony and heartbreak because we too quickly have forgotten all of the good, timely blessings life tossed our way?
Donald Trump's latest speech was full of hate, anger, fear and "vitriol" ( currently my favourite word which is new to me) to which legions of his followers cheered and jumped about. He chooses a frightening way to ralley the masses, but it works!
Trump KNOWS that too many people have a need to cling to a victim mentality* forgoing any other characteristic of self identy. Many of us cling to Global bad news and agony in our lives, make it our narrative and stupidly set it up as a sextant by which to travel. I shake my head.
I work around a lot of hurting people that are gripped in addiction, mental health issues, poverty and disease and many of these people STILL NOTICE JOY!
I look at a lot of local News. I look at foreign web sites to keep myself "in the know" so as to relate to my fellow human in their suffering and JOY!
This exercise has often helped me to be available to help others when called upon as if I know what they're going through.
In saying that, I must refresh myself outdoors away from all of that bad news.
So heres the application:
Cling to all that is good, learn from the not-so-good and go out of your often way to help someone else in word and deed.
Peace
* Victim mentality is an acquired (learned) personality trait in which a person tends to regard him or herself as a victim of the negative actions of others, and to behave like it were the case—even in the absence of clear evidence. It depends on habitual thought processes and attribution.
-Wiki
Saturday, March 5, 2016
trump card
SOME LANGUAGE IN THIS POST OFFENSIVE
A trump card, as you know, can be played as ANY card at any time. It has no definitive identity, forever changing, never lying, never the same.
Would you place a bet in a card game knowing that your opponent had 1 or more trump cards? If you would...lets play poker!
The latest race to the White House down South has been nothing less than the worst in American Reality TV.
Republican Frontrunner Donald "Trump" Drumpf is very much like that card. You'd have to be one very mentally unstable individual to have any faith in this guy...but, as the numbers show, Republicans are gushing over him!
How many groups, people and Nations has he publically slandered now? 199 and rising?
The thing is, whether you love him or hate him, he says things that, apparently, millions of people subscribe to. Right leaning people in any event.
Over the years, I've heard some really crap things first hand that people have said with the caveat "I'm not prejudiced...but"...Many of those people identified as Christian!
When I was a Pastor in Alberta, I was challenged several times after giving people grief for their ugly comments. I never let that poison attitude go unchallenged!
(I was going to site a few examples but thought better of it.) Usually someone would run off to a Senior Pastor and tell a rather one-sided story. I don't make promises...but I promise that I will NEVER take on that role again! Heart breaking!
I was speaking with a pensioner recently about Trump, she said
"Well, people are tired of immigrants taking jobs, buying all the houses and everything, spending top dollar making everything unaffordable. Bringing in drugs, making gangs. They disrespect our Country by not learning and using our Language, disregard our laws and bring their cultural violence here. At least He (Trump) will do something about that in America when He's President"
...WHEN he's President. Apparently this woman has made her mind up. If she were American, she'd vote for him.
I'm sure you're aware of some of the things he's said he would do when elected. If you are NOT familiar with those things, I suggest that you take a lingering sober look into it!
If this man is given the most Powerful title on Earth, the ensuing result will be calamity all over the Globe!
But in all reality, that will NEVER happen. Every Democrat will vote Blue and probably half of the Republicans will follow suit or stay home that day.
So, what type of person backs Trump?
I know, quite well, a Redneck guy here in Vancouver that would. He's a 2-faced, lying, spineless weasel of a man.
He called a man from Iran a "sand nigger" behind his back. I called the guy over and said "Hey ----- tell him to his face what you called him.
You should have seen his denial, back pedaling, grunting, uneasiness! I looked at him and said "Yeah...I thought you'd react like that."
I lost respect for that man on that day. I've heard him utter other poison over the years and called him on it. He denies it all the time!
So yeah. Thats the type of person I think will back Trump. Those spineless jellyfish types who's bark is much louder than their bite.
As far as Trump goes?
He's just the same! He flip flops more than the best of them.
Time will tell.
In the mean time, only if you're safe, would you PLEASE call out anyone talking garbage like Trump does?
(I just TOLD a kid to change the music he had on at the grouphome. "I'm gonna fuck that bitch, gonna get some dope, make 'em choke..." What ugly garbage!)
My fear is that the Trump brand of "talk" is going to become as acceptable as the lyrics in today's Rap Music. That poisonous Leadership from the Head of State can only lead to a greater disrespect for people, violence towards people and a complete shift of moral fibre cleverly shrouded in Domestic Security...
God balm America!
Peace
A trump card, as you know, can be played as ANY card at any time. It has no definitive identity, forever changing, never lying, never the same.
Would you place a bet in a card game knowing that your opponent had 1 or more trump cards? If you would...lets play poker!
The latest race to the White House down South has been nothing less than the worst in American Reality TV.
Republican Frontrunner Donald "Trump" Drumpf is very much like that card. You'd have to be one very mentally unstable individual to have any faith in this guy...but, as the numbers show, Republicans are gushing over him!
How many groups, people and Nations has he publically slandered now? 199 and rising?
The thing is, whether you love him or hate him, he says things that, apparently, millions of people subscribe to. Right leaning people in any event.
Over the years, I've heard some really crap things first hand that people have said with the caveat "I'm not prejudiced...but"...Many of those people identified as Christian!
When I was a Pastor in Alberta, I was challenged several times after giving people grief for their ugly comments. I never let that poison attitude go unchallenged!
(I was going to site a few examples but thought better of it.) Usually someone would run off to a Senior Pastor and tell a rather one-sided story. I don't make promises...but I promise that I will NEVER take on that role again! Heart breaking!
I was speaking with a pensioner recently about Trump, she said
"Well, people are tired of immigrants taking jobs, buying all the houses and everything, spending top dollar making everything unaffordable. Bringing in drugs, making gangs. They disrespect our Country by not learning and using our Language, disregard our laws and bring their cultural violence here. At least He (Trump) will do something about that in America when He's President"
...WHEN he's President. Apparently this woman has made her mind up. If she were American, she'd vote for him.
I'm sure you're aware of some of the things he's said he would do when elected. If you are NOT familiar with those things, I suggest that you take a lingering sober look into it!
If this man is given the most Powerful title on Earth, the ensuing result will be calamity all over the Globe!
But in all reality, that will NEVER happen. Every Democrat will vote Blue and probably half of the Republicans will follow suit or stay home that day.
So, what type of person backs Trump?
I know, quite well, a Redneck guy here in Vancouver that would. He's a 2-faced, lying, spineless weasel of a man.
He called a man from Iran a "sand nigger" behind his back. I called the guy over and said "Hey ----- tell him to his face what you called him.
You should have seen his denial, back pedaling, grunting, uneasiness! I looked at him and said "Yeah...I thought you'd react like that."
I lost respect for that man on that day. I've heard him utter other poison over the years and called him on it. He denies it all the time!
So yeah. Thats the type of person I think will back Trump. Those spineless jellyfish types who's bark is much louder than their bite.
As far as Trump goes?
He's just the same! He flip flops more than the best of them.
Time will tell.
In the mean time, only if you're safe, would you PLEASE call out anyone talking garbage like Trump does?
(I just TOLD a kid to change the music he had on at the grouphome. "I'm gonna fuck that bitch, gonna get some dope, make 'em choke..." What ugly garbage!)
My fear is that the Trump brand of "talk" is going to become as acceptable as the lyrics in today's Rap Music. That poisonous Leadership from the Head of State can only lead to a greater disrespect for people, violence towards people and a complete shift of moral fibre cleverly shrouded in Domestic Security...
God balm America!
Peace
Monday, January 18, 2016
The immortal are dying?
Did you hear that Ian Fraser Kilmister died? David Robert Jones died a short time after him.
Their families knew them. Their closest friends knew them.
I'm sure that they are well mourned.
Incidently, I mourn the loss of David more than Ian. I figured Ian would die eventually. But David? David seemed larger than life!
Certainly larger than cancer.
Cancer. That shitty little silent killer that doesn't put up a fair fight. No one is immune.
So yeah...people all over this every shrinking World that have never met Ian or David are rushing to specific areas and lighting candles, leaving notes, dropping off flowers, tying balloons to things and taking selfies at these places in a sort of...wake? We're leaving beatuful words all over social media for people that we have never ever met.
Name me either man's favourite colour or food.
Yes, I realize that each one contributed an emence catalogue of "flare" to this planet for which I am grateful. However...my little heart didn't break. My head did a sort of "low brow" though.
Their deaths started me thinking. If you know me (that is, know my favourite colour and/or food) you know that I think too much.
We are all living in this brief moment of instantaneous gratification where apparently, life is only meaningful if we amass loads of "goods" that we don't realy need and can't afford anyway!
Oh right...credit cards. Finance your dream in this fleeting vapourous life. Tell you what, the newest iPhone shouldn't be something to tick off of your bucket list!
The people at the top of the food chain that run the show are busy as hell telling their people to tell their people what exactly to spoon feed us and when.
AND ITS WORKING!
So heres my point.
2 people have died. They were complete strangers to you and me, and they never once invited us to their table.
Yet we light candles, tear our sackcloth, learn cover tunes and quickly buy albums...
May I tell you the truth?
These 2 were mere mortals just like you and me.
Indeed they were gifted in unique ways and "loved us" so much that they chose to share their talent...for which I'm ever grateful, but people die every single day of every single month of every single year and precious few drop a flower or set free a balloon.
There are over 7.2 billion humans standing on this Earth and I only know a few. I haven't the time to heave anyone onto a pedastool, its really a far better use of MY precious days to treat everyone the same.
I'm willing to bet that Lemmy and Bowie would agree...
Peace
Their families knew them. Their closest friends knew them.
I'm sure that they are well mourned.
Incidently, I mourn the loss of David more than Ian. I figured Ian would die eventually. But David? David seemed larger than life!
Certainly larger than cancer.
Cancer. That shitty little silent killer that doesn't put up a fair fight. No one is immune.
So yeah...people all over this every shrinking World that have never met Ian or David are rushing to specific areas and lighting candles, leaving notes, dropping off flowers, tying balloons to things and taking selfies at these places in a sort of...wake? We're leaving beatuful words all over social media for people that we have never ever met.
Name me either man's favourite colour or food.
Yes, I realize that each one contributed an emence catalogue of "flare" to this planet for which I am grateful. However...my little heart didn't break. My head did a sort of "low brow" though.
Their deaths started me thinking. If you know me (that is, know my favourite colour and/or food) you know that I think too much.
We are all living in this brief moment of instantaneous gratification where apparently, life is only meaningful if we amass loads of "goods" that we don't realy need and can't afford anyway!
Oh right...credit cards. Finance your dream in this fleeting vapourous life. Tell you what, the newest iPhone shouldn't be something to tick off of your bucket list!
The people at the top of the food chain that run the show are busy as hell telling their people to tell their people what exactly to spoon feed us and when.
AND ITS WORKING!
So heres my point.
2 people have died. They were complete strangers to you and me, and they never once invited us to their table.
Yet we light candles, tear our sackcloth, learn cover tunes and quickly buy albums...
May I tell you the truth?
These 2 were mere mortals just like you and me.
Indeed they were gifted in unique ways and "loved us" so much that they chose to share their talent...for which I'm ever grateful, but people die every single day of every single month of every single year and precious few drop a flower or set free a balloon.
There are over 7.2 billion humans standing on this Earth and I only know a few. I haven't the time to heave anyone onto a pedastool, its really a far better use of MY precious days to treat everyone the same.
I'm willing to bet that Lemmy and Bowie would agree...
Peace
Sunday, December 13, 2015
The relentless clacking of East van taxis
Ever spend time around the bitter end of Vancouver? Not sure? Need a reference?
The misery oozes along Hastings St. which seems to be the main artery. You've no doubt seen miserable cretans pushing East Van Taxis through alleys filled with bottles, metal scrap, clothes and whatever else. The taxi wheel's clacking muffled only by the stolen shopping cart's metal frame protesting under weight.
Waaaaaaay back in 1867, Hastings Mill, started by the Englishman Edward Stamp at the foot of Dunlevy St. was more than an early settlement so I've read. It was in effect a company town. People shopped at the Hastings Mill Store and sent their children to the Hastings Mill School, milled about and innocently played. All seemed well.
Turns out that good jobs bring good money which in turn brings alcohol, bawdy houses, and lousy dives to sleep it off in. Did you know that Early Vancouver was Opium rich?
Lots has changed in Vancouver...but some of these skid row attitudes and rooms still exist today in all their pungent, miserable glory right under the nose of our Mayor and Premier.
A little nugget for free: The term skid road originally referred to the path along which timber workers skidded logs. It is said that the area's seedy origins date back to the early concentration of saloons in pre-Canadian Prohibition (1915–1919) and its popularity with loggers, miners and fishermen whose work was seasonal and who spent their salaries in the area's cheap accommodations and public houses. The infection of "nastiness" spreads tightly along Hastings East to Clark St. West to Carral St. and a few bitter blocks either East or West to this day!
This area, known as the Downtown East Side (DTES) is the poorest urban area in Canada. Yep...you read that right! Smack dab in the RICHEST part of our Province we have this kind of misery!
There is unfortunately a market for everything down here. Do you know that the youngest prostitute "rescued" from a shitty area called Lowtrack was only12 years old? Yeah...I heard of her during my first year working in group homes in 1990. The oldest was 67 for the sake of balance...
So why dear reader am I telling you these less than uplifting stories?
The truth is that I'm ashamed that I haven't done more over the years. I can't share details about my shift tonight at the Grouphome but it wasn't pretty to say the least and the this evening and my typical work week started me thinking.
Do you reaize that you needn't start out as a pathetic, stinking, lying, stealing, sickly zombie of a human to get hooked on dope?
Nope...truth is, it could happen to YOU right now! I've yet to meet a junkie who's life's dream was to become a junkie whos living half hour to half hour. None of those pathetic creatures studied up on how to become zombie.
I see it first hand birthing in teen-age kids! It frightens me. It crushes my heart!
Why did I decide to post this?
Tonight at a gas station after midnight, I asked the attendant in the clostrophobic booth who appeared older than I "how is your night? How is your shift?"
His reply?
"I work to feed my family. I do what I must do."
All this to suggest that before you ridicule or pity the non-white dude at the local 7-11 or gas station you visit and stagger into after a night out on the tiles or your own job, understand that he/she may be doing this crap job that you'd never do in order to suport their family amd keep their kids off of Skid Row.
Peace
The misery oozes along Hastings St. which seems to be the main artery. You've no doubt seen miserable cretans pushing East Van Taxis through alleys filled with bottles, metal scrap, clothes and whatever else. The taxi wheel's clacking muffled only by the stolen shopping cart's metal frame protesting under weight.
Waaaaaaay back in 1867, Hastings Mill, started by the Englishman Edward Stamp at the foot of Dunlevy St. was more than an early settlement so I've read. It was in effect a company town. People shopped at the Hastings Mill Store and sent their children to the Hastings Mill School, milled about and innocently played. All seemed well.
Turns out that good jobs bring good money which in turn brings alcohol, bawdy houses, and lousy dives to sleep it off in. Did you know that Early Vancouver was Opium rich?
Lots has changed in Vancouver...but some of these skid row attitudes and rooms still exist today in all their pungent, miserable glory right under the nose of our Mayor and Premier.
A little nugget for free: The term skid road originally referred to the path along which timber workers skidded logs. It is said that the area's seedy origins date back to the early concentration of saloons in pre-Canadian Prohibition (1915–1919) and its popularity with loggers, miners and fishermen whose work was seasonal and who spent their salaries in the area's cheap accommodations and public houses. The infection of "nastiness" spreads tightly along Hastings East to Clark St. West to Carral St. and a few bitter blocks either East or West to this day!
This area, known as the Downtown East Side (DTES) is the poorest urban area in Canada. Yep...you read that right! Smack dab in the RICHEST part of our Province we have this kind of misery!
There is unfortunately a market for everything down here. Do you know that the youngest prostitute "rescued" from a shitty area called Lowtrack was only12 years old? Yeah...I heard of her during my first year working in group homes in 1990. The oldest was 67 for the sake of balance...
So why dear reader am I telling you these less than uplifting stories?
The truth is that I'm ashamed that I haven't done more over the years. I can't share details about my shift tonight at the Grouphome but it wasn't pretty to say the least and the this evening and my typical work week started me thinking.
Do you reaize that you needn't start out as a pathetic, stinking, lying, stealing, sickly zombie of a human to get hooked on dope?
Nope...truth is, it could happen to YOU right now! I've yet to meet a junkie who's life's dream was to become a junkie whos living half hour to half hour. None of those pathetic creatures studied up on how to become zombie.
I see it first hand birthing in teen-age kids! It frightens me. It crushes my heart!
Why did I decide to post this?
Tonight at a gas station after midnight, I asked the attendant in the clostrophobic booth who appeared older than I "how is your night? How is your shift?"
His reply?
"I work to feed my family. I do what I must do."
All this to suggest that before you ridicule or pity the non-white dude at the local 7-11 or gas station you visit and stagger into after a night out on the tiles or your own job, understand that he/she may be doing this crap job that you'd never do in order to suport their family amd keep their kids off of Skid Row.
Peace
Sunday, November 15, 2015
distraction vs destruction
I've been picking up a few shifts at the grouphome lately along with my usual Monday to Friday full-time work. In fact, I'm working 57 "shifts" out of a possible 61 days over October/November. I justify the work load by saying that we need the extra money or that the extra can go into my "bike fund". Truth is, both jobs are low paying so this extra I dream of is not really worth my exhaustion.
I really like both jobs so there's that, and I do have a list of things that are needed vs wanted that cost money, but honestly part of the truth is that I get bored too easily.
I really need to find a hobby that I can sink my teeth into because I'm alone far too often and I don't enjoy being alone.
I've got the usual list of excuses: Stuff costs money. Its dark by the time I'm home, I'm too tired to actually go and DO something...
More truth is that I fear that I'm simply sinking into an apathetic rut which I can't help think is perhaps why a dependence upon drugs or alcohol is formed by so many people or why that deep overwhelming feeling of depression clouds over and smothers clear thinking.
So yeah, I work.
Its become very clear to me that I can't rely on other people to "make me happy" or meet my needs so I've come to the conclusion that I must make some changes in my own life in order to not go completely mental!
I have several friends that live in single room occupancy hotels in the Vancouver skid row area and being alone, bored and unmotivated is their biggest complaint.
Their deep personal emptiness has a greater negative effect on them than even their utter poverty. I've heard it over and over again how each one has slipped so deep into sadness that they simply "couldn't leave their room".
I get that. I can really understand what they mean. That all consuming despair that everyone else says "snap out of it" is bigger and heavier than most other things we go through.
So...I must find a hobby that can be done preferably outside of my home which doesn't cost a ton of money.
Hopefully a few things that are on my radar will soon be within reach after another "extra money" payday at the end of the month.
I'm working 13 days of the next 16 so I'll be plenty distracted for now.
We'll see what December brings.
Peace
Monday, October 12, 2015
As we moan about over-full bellies
I know a guy, well...more than know him but I'm not about to give away anyone's details without them knowing first hand.
In any event, this guy that I know has a 911 Porsche that I promise you he's earned. He's a gentle man, a clever man, a loving man. He's what you'd call Self Made. I admire him! He said that he LOVES driving it.
Anyway, I saw the car and I was truly happy for him but it got me to thinking; What do each one of us have that we fall back on as luxury, therapy, getaway, fun or relaxation?
It's an interesting topic.
I have a motorcycle that I ride all year as most of you know and its my main form of transportation (more than my legs which is a crime to be honest) but, after the necessary mental gymnastics, I'm able to separate COMMUTE from RIDE.
What I mean in that is that when I ride at the Week End or after work, its all beautiful therapy. I ride slowly with no aggression, sucking in the oxygen and counting all of the colours I notice along the way. Its my downtime, reboot...whatever you wish to call it. To be honest...once in a rare while, I sneer, curl my lip and give 'er shit! My bike can really fly when I have no fear...hell, I even growl!
What do you have?
Where do you go?
What do you do?
This is encouragement time!
You got a horse? Convertible? Fishing spot? Instrument? Writing?
Do you people watch?
I know a heavily tattooed local author that runs and writes and runs and writes...he STILL manages to fit in time for his boy and his "woman". I could learn from Chris and plan to...
My wife plays this dumb ass (imho) game on her phone. Balloons crushing candy or something? Keeps her sane whilst juggling me (thats a chore), her full time music stuff and her full time work acting stuff whilst being available to several Doula's for child minder and being in local plays to boot. (the woman seems to be on call more than a dial-a-bottle driver)
She seems to hold her sanity by picking on instruments and humming. (to be rather candid, I think she's borderline crackers...but what do I know?)
Me? I ride my motorbike all year, visit the river several times a week and SUCK IN MORE OF MY SHARE OF OXYGEN, walk DTES alleys and chat with desperate humans who's only thought that matters is how to get the next "rock" of Crack. (join me one day. You'll be surprised at the humanity...I promise) Buy 'em a coffee, Native smokes or a slab of shitty, sweaty pizza.
What do you do?
What ARE you doing to maintain mental health?
It could be ANYTHING!
You know your strengths, weaknesses, available resources and skills. Only you know what causes you anxiety and where your comfort level is.
Dare you step towards what stretches you?
My latest mental challenge is trying to step out of my comfort zone. I'm so chill holding a girl's purse whilst she administered heroin into a vein in her neck (true moment) or the time I pondered buying my wife a cool belt buckle at a street market on the infamous Hastings Street Sidewalk Sale while the owner of said buckle emptied a poppy filed syringe into a damn near dead vein in his thigh.
"dude, what do you need for the buckle?"
"fuck man. Hold up I just got a hit"
For me...thats easy. I've helped sex trade workers get dressed after being chucked out of cars after a "bad date".
So where's the point where I'm personally stretched? Need I go into the business district and park Audis?
Do I have to shine Italian stitched leather shoes?
Must I take my holier than thou attitude and shove it deep into the sewer?
So yeah....a 911 Porches that is probably very far from entry level but in all honesty easily within my friend's means doesn't seem all that extravagant in the big picture. In fact, I'm envious because I have a 17 year old shite van and my 12 year old loving-it-to-death motorbike which I can barely afford to keep on the road and his stuff is so fresh.
But the bigger picture?
I spend time on the river with Brock. Brock is 27. Mum of his daughter left him and now he lives in a tent along the Fraser River (won't tell you where exactly the full story isn't mine to share) and he looks likes shit! Last time we bumped into each other was just after he got his welfare cheque. He gave most to his daughter and then bought tobacco and shite beer.
He offered me one of his cans of Wildcat as we sat on the river bullshitting... even though its damn near the worst beer on the BC market in my opinion, that one tasted to me like one of those uppity $1000 bottles of champagne that South Vancouverites line up for. Is it the flavour?
The name?
The region?
What your friends see that you bought?
Sticker price?
Availability?
Or do you honestly prefer it?
In fact, I was warned by an in house expert to ignore the recent 2012 Bordeaux release unless I was a Collector. Buddy in the know said that he could give me several "better options" than 1 $180 bottle of this stuff.
I giggled and paid my $11 for ale.
So i ramble...I'm known for it.
What do you do to reboot?
Who do you help?
Are you happy?
How may I help you?
Peace
In any event, this guy that I know has a 911 Porsche that I promise you he's earned. He's a gentle man, a clever man, a loving man. He's what you'd call Self Made. I admire him! He said that he LOVES driving it.
Anyway, I saw the car and I was truly happy for him but it got me to thinking; What do each one of us have that we fall back on as luxury, therapy, getaway, fun or relaxation?
It's an interesting topic.
I have a motorcycle that I ride all year as most of you know and its my main form of transportation (more than my legs which is a crime to be honest) but, after the necessary mental gymnastics, I'm able to separate COMMUTE from RIDE.
What I mean in that is that when I ride at the Week End or after work, its all beautiful therapy. I ride slowly with no aggression, sucking in the oxygen and counting all of the colours I notice along the way. Its my downtime, reboot...whatever you wish to call it. To be honest...once in a rare while, I sneer, curl my lip and give 'er shit! My bike can really fly when I have no fear...hell, I even growl!
What do you have?
Where do you go?
What do you do?
This is encouragement time!
You got a horse? Convertible? Fishing spot? Instrument? Writing?
Do you people watch?
I know a heavily tattooed local author that runs and writes and runs and writes...he STILL manages to fit in time for his boy and his "woman". I could learn from Chris and plan to...
My wife plays this dumb ass (imho) game on her phone. Balloons crushing candy or something? Keeps her sane whilst juggling me (thats a chore), her full time music stuff and her full time work acting stuff whilst being available to several Doula's for child minder and being in local plays to boot. (the woman seems to be on call more than a dial-a-bottle driver)
She seems to hold her sanity by picking on instruments and humming. (to be rather candid, I think she's borderline crackers...but what do I know?)
Me? I ride my motorbike all year, visit the river several times a week and SUCK IN MORE OF MY SHARE OF OXYGEN, walk DTES alleys and chat with desperate humans who's only thought that matters is how to get the next "rock" of Crack. (join me one day. You'll be surprised at the humanity...I promise) Buy 'em a coffee, Native smokes or a slab of shitty, sweaty pizza.
What do you do?
What ARE you doing to maintain mental health?
It could be ANYTHING!
You know your strengths, weaknesses, available resources and skills. Only you know what causes you anxiety and where your comfort level is.
Dare you step towards what stretches you?
My latest mental challenge is trying to step out of my comfort zone. I'm so chill holding a girl's purse whilst she administered heroin into a vein in her neck (true moment) or the time I pondered buying my wife a cool belt buckle at a street market on the infamous Hastings Street Sidewalk Sale while the owner of said buckle emptied a poppy filed syringe into a damn near dead vein in his thigh.
"dude, what do you need for the buckle?"
"fuck man. Hold up I just got a hit"
For me...thats easy. I've helped sex trade workers get dressed after being chucked out of cars after a "bad date".
So where's the point where I'm personally stretched? Need I go into the business district and park Audis?
Do I have to shine Italian stitched leather shoes?
Must I take my holier than thou attitude and shove it deep into the sewer?
So yeah....a 911 Porches that is probably very far from entry level but in all honesty easily within my friend's means doesn't seem all that extravagant in the big picture. In fact, I'm envious because I have a 17 year old shite van and my 12 year old loving-it-to-death motorbike which I can barely afford to keep on the road and his stuff is so fresh.
But the bigger picture?
I spend time on the river with Brock. Brock is 27. Mum of his daughter left him and now he lives in a tent along the Fraser River (won't tell you where exactly the full story isn't mine to share) and he looks likes shit! Last time we bumped into each other was just after he got his welfare cheque. He gave most to his daughter and then bought tobacco and shite beer.
He offered me one of his cans of Wildcat as we sat on the river bullshitting... even though its damn near the worst beer on the BC market in my opinion, that one tasted to me like one of those uppity $1000 bottles of champagne that South Vancouverites line up for. Is it the flavour?
The name?
The region?
What your friends see that you bought?
Sticker price?
Availability?
Or do you honestly prefer it?
In fact, I was warned by an in house expert to ignore the recent 2012 Bordeaux release unless I was a Collector. Buddy in the know said that he could give me several "better options" than 1 $180 bottle of this stuff.
I giggled and paid my $11 for ale.
So i ramble...I'm known for it.
What do you do to reboot?
Who do you help?
Are you happy?
How may I help you?
Peace
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Kid Gloves with holes torn through cruising Facebook
Here we are in a very important year in Canada. We gets to vote! It's our right, its our privlege.
So...of course I'm all over this on the Facebook! As it turns out, the current Leader of our Country is very much for the rich (didn't see that coming) not to mention He seems to be rather racist with his dumb ass comments on OLD STOCK IMMIGRANTS and other crap.
To be fair...Harper is from Alberta. Alberta should be the 51st USA State in my opinion. Rampant Gun lust, *quiet opinions like "I'm not racist but...." and several other archaic nuances.
So yeah....I get hassled on Facebook by Alberta folks. Truth hurts I guess?
How many Canadian Prairie Good Ol' Boys side with The Trump I wonder....scary thought!
I even had one guy post "TIME TO PLAY COWBOYS AND MUSLIMS" with vintage imagery of White dudes shooting guns.
And that guy professes a Christian faith...hmmmmm?
Sounds a bit like my ugly heritage. The English gave you a chance to honour (their) God or they'd stick a sword through your skull.
Nothing has changed I fear.
It would appear to me that as far as Alberta goes, I'm not allowed to have my political opinion.
This held very true over the 11 years that I lived there.
I saw a bumper sticker often in Alberta: PISS OFF A LIBERAL BUY A GUN
I made my own sticker that read:
PISS OFF A CONSERVATIVE THINK FOR YOURSELF
My sticker was torn off of my van with 48 hours. Democracy?
So here I am, back on the Left Coast with like minded people. My only hope is that we can agree and Vote for 1 party to be sure to send Harper packing! (he'll get a nice pension...no need to worry about him)
But as far as my Alberta ties go? Apparently I'm an idiot. Many think Harper walks on water and carries incense to the very gates of religious ceremonies.
(MY BAD...WHITE FOLK DON'T USE INCENSE IN RELIGION)
So yeah...you'll see #heaveSteve painted on my motorbike tank and #endofanerror on the other side.
Its time for him to go, he's done too much damage to the have-nots.
As far as my Albertan opponents go?
Relax...the NDP will look after you.
So...of course I'm all over this on the Facebook! As it turns out, the current Leader of our Country is very much for the rich (didn't see that coming) not to mention He seems to be rather racist with his dumb ass comments on OLD STOCK IMMIGRANTS and other crap.
To be fair...Harper is from Alberta. Alberta should be the 51st USA State in my opinion. Rampant Gun lust, *quiet opinions like "I'm not racist but...." and several other archaic nuances.
So yeah....I get hassled on Facebook by Alberta folks. Truth hurts I guess?
How many Canadian Prairie Good Ol' Boys side with The Trump I wonder....scary thought!
I even had one guy post "TIME TO PLAY COWBOYS AND MUSLIMS" with vintage imagery of White dudes shooting guns.
And that guy professes a Christian faith...hmmmmm?
Sounds a bit like my ugly heritage. The English gave you a chance to honour (their) God or they'd stick a sword through your skull.
Nothing has changed I fear.
It would appear to me that as far as Alberta goes, I'm not allowed to have my political opinion.
This held very true over the 11 years that I lived there.
I saw a bumper sticker often in Alberta: PISS OFF A LIBERAL BUY A GUN
I made my own sticker that read:
PISS OFF A CONSERVATIVE THINK FOR YOURSELF
My sticker was torn off of my van with 48 hours. Democracy?
So here I am, back on the Left Coast with like minded people. My only hope is that we can agree and Vote for 1 party to be sure to send Harper packing! (he'll get a nice pension...no need to worry about him)
But as far as my Alberta ties go? Apparently I'm an idiot. Many think Harper walks on water and carries incense to the very gates of religious ceremonies.
(MY BAD...WHITE FOLK DON'T USE INCENSE IN RELIGION)
So yeah...you'll see #heaveSteve painted on my motorbike tank and #endofanerror on the other side.
Its time for him to go, he's done too much damage to the have-nots.
As far as my Albertan opponents go?
Relax...the NDP will look after you.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Worn out faces
I work with a woman. Well, to be fair, she isn't on the truck with me every day but she manages to keep the daily bullshit in one pen so to speak. She's what? 26 I think...
We chat. Of course you chat with coworkers...some you avoid. She talks a fair bit of politics, social sciences, the state of the union...I can relate.
Today she pipes up "Lance, do you think my face is getting wrinkles?"
I found it kind of funny.
I found it kind of sad.
20-something and she's wondering about this?
She's really pretty! She's fit, athletic, TomBoy, smart as a textbook, outgoing, on top of current issues, has her own fashion sense...and maybe...if the light is right...a wrinkle. Maybe.
This surprised me. It was out of left field for her. Shes so damned together in my limited perspective. What do I know...
So I saw Ray today. Ray is in his 60's but if you saw him, you'd probably guess a rough 70.
Ray used to sleep outdoors, but he "his bones got too old" so he applied, and got a room at the St. Helens in Vancouver. Could be worse by miles. He has his own kitchen area and "shithouse".
Ray pulls in disability each month. I won't bother filling your time with his story about how he got where he is.. suffice it to say, kids that never call, a wife that loathes him and a Government that dangles a carrot of hope in the form of "more help" under his nose.
So Ray, I like Ray. Ray talks about things how it is from his viewpoint. I bet I could spit in his face or slap him in the head and he'd ask "why'd you do that?"
Always a smile creasing his filthy face. Always half in the bag by 9:30 am when I see him. Always a story.
The place I work for can't "use" tinned goods that are dented. Health BS... (staff can bring them home to eat. Often we do....) In the back of my 5-ton truck, I've got 6 crates of canned goods. Name it, I've got it! Soups, sauces, fruits, veg, beans, ravioli...dented but fine.
I keep 'em on board for Red. I've introduced you to Red before. You need Red on your side in the DTES. If he doesn't get on with you, I pity you.
(Red...again, a dude on disability...weighs 346 with gimped knees. No dope, No booze, No gambling)
Red got me a cigar for my birthday last month. Think on that. A dude who lives in an infested SRO hotel buys ME a cigar. Shit...the brother remembered my birthday! He recalls my favourite food for crying out loud!
My friends. The invisible ones. The scumbags.
So back to Ray.
I see Ray today at 9:15 and he's shittered but in his typical great mood. The guy's eyes twinkle even though they're opaque and bloodshot.
I manage to manoeuvre the truck around Robson at Cardero without killing anyone but infuriating taxi and bus drivers. Screw them, I'm on a mission.
Big deal? U-turn on Robson. Suck it up! I signalled...
So I pull my headlight up to Ray's chin as he's sitting on a bollard with his cart full of empties. Ray is a Binner. A polite one. A successful one!
He beams...he recognized me. He trusts me more than I do. What if I misjudged?
"Ray you old buzzard, where have you been? I haven't set eyes on you for weeks"
"I got sick bad. I got heat stroke then I got sick from that rain. I don't have good heat at home. My clothes were wet. I was gonna go to St Pauls for the cough...but its 3 hours waiting. How are you?"
"Ray, how the hell can I complain when I talk with you? You know I feel bad if I do"
"We all have different problems Lance"
"Can I buy you a coffee Brother?"
"No thanks, I have my beer going."
I tell Ray about the tinned goods, he's thrilled! I allow him the pick of the litter and he grabs about 30 tins of various stuff. He keeps telling me how much money I've saved him...
Money. Commerce. Invisible trade for most of us.
Ray asked how my daughter was. He remembers meeting her. He says "you're still married right?" I tell him "barely" but regret the words the moment they slithered off of my tongue.
What the hell do I know of his life?..and I try to provoke pity for mine. Humour or not...how dare I?
I pull away through the alley and attempt a left turn onto Robson. A frail man that must be 110 is pushing a shopping cart across the Robson and the pedestrian light is count in down quicker than he wishes. I look, I cock my head and watch as the numbers count down from 10 as if to suggest this poor bastard's lifespan...I catch myself...tight throat.
I'm brought back to reality at the sound of a car's horn. An impatient dude in a Tesla is pissed that the Old Dude is holding him up by a few seconds.
I want a year of Jubilee. I want an even slate. I want the Fawn to graze with the Lion. I want Love.
Peace
We chat. Of course you chat with coworkers...some you avoid. She talks a fair bit of politics, social sciences, the state of the union...I can relate.
Today she pipes up "Lance, do you think my face is getting wrinkles?"
I found it kind of funny.
I found it kind of sad.
20-something and she's wondering about this?
She's really pretty! She's fit, athletic, TomBoy, smart as a textbook, outgoing, on top of current issues, has her own fashion sense...and maybe...if the light is right...a wrinkle. Maybe.
This surprised me. It was out of left field for her. Shes so damned together in my limited perspective. What do I know...
So I saw Ray today. Ray is in his 60's but if you saw him, you'd probably guess a rough 70.
Ray used to sleep outdoors, but he "his bones got too old" so he applied, and got a room at the St. Helens in Vancouver. Could be worse by miles. He has his own kitchen area and "shithouse".
Ray pulls in disability each month. I won't bother filling your time with his story about how he got where he is.. suffice it to say, kids that never call, a wife that loathes him and a Government that dangles a carrot of hope in the form of "more help" under his nose.
So Ray, I like Ray. Ray talks about things how it is from his viewpoint. I bet I could spit in his face or slap him in the head and he'd ask "why'd you do that?"
Always a smile creasing his filthy face. Always half in the bag by 9:30 am when I see him. Always a story.
The place I work for can't "use" tinned goods that are dented. Health BS... (staff can bring them home to eat. Often we do....) In the back of my 5-ton truck, I've got 6 crates of canned goods. Name it, I've got it! Soups, sauces, fruits, veg, beans, ravioli...dented but fine.
I keep 'em on board for Red. I've introduced you to Red before. You need Red on your side in the DTES. If he doesn't get on with you, I pity you.
(Red...again, a dude on disability...weighs 346 with gimped knees. No dope, No booze, No gambling)
Red got me a cigar for my birthday last month. Think on that. A dude who lives in an infested SRO hotel buys ME a cigar. Shit...the brother remembered my birthday! He recalls my favourite food for crying out loud!
My friends. The invisible ones. The scumbags.
So back to Ray.
I see Ray today at 9:15 and he's shittered but in his typical great mood. The guy's eyes twinkle even though they're opaque and bloodshot.
I manage to manoeuvre the truck around Robson at Cardero without killing anyone but infuriating taxi and bus drivers. Screw them, I'm on a mission.
Big deal? U-turn on Robson. Suck it up! I signalled...
So I pull my headlight up to Ray's chin as he's sitting on a bollard with his cart full of empties. Ray is a Binner. A polite one. A successful one!
He beams...he recognized me. He trusts me more than I do. What if I misjudged?
"Ray you old buzzard, where have you been? I haven't set eyes on you for weeks"
"I got sick bad. I got heat stroke then I got sick from that rain. I don't have good heat at home. My clothes were wet. I was gonna go to St Pauls for the cough...but its 3 hours waiting. How are you?"
"Ray, how the hell can I complain when I talk with you? You know I feel bad if I do"
"We all have different problems Lance"
"Can I buy you a coffee Brother?"
"No thanks, I have my beer going."
I tell Ray about the tinned goods, he's thrilled! I allow him the pick of the litter and he grabs about 30 tins of various stuff. He keeps telling me how much money I've saved him...
Money. Commerce. Invisible trade for most of us.
Ray asked how my daughter was. He remembers meeting her. He says "you're still married right?" I tell him "barely" but regret the words the moment they slithered off of my tongue.
What the hell do I know of his life?..and I try to provoke pity for mine. Humour or not...how dare I?
I pull away through the alley and attempt a left turn onto Robson. A frail man that must be 110 is pushing a shopping cart across the Robson and the pedestrian light is count in down quicker than he wishes. I look, I cock my head and watch as the numbers count down from 10 as if to suggest this poor bastard's lifespan...I catch myself...tight throat.
I'm brought back to reality at the sound of a car's horn. An impatient dude in a Tesla is pissed that the Old Dude is holding him up by a few seconds.
I want a year of Jubilee. I want an even slate. I want the Fawn to graze with the Lion. I want Love.
Peace
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
Sometimes the mirror you're looking into doesn't need glass
I'm deciding on chilling on my alcohol intake. To be fair...it's only beer. But it's becoming too valuable to me at a cost. CAVEAT...this is my choice...not YOURS!
So let's review....
Beer helps my chronic back pain. Legit but an EXCUSE
Beer helps me fall asleep when my financial burdens surface and I hold a low paying job AGAIN. (I guess I chose it.) EXCUSE
Beer helps me assume all is well when I feel lonely. EXCUSE
Beer helps me cope when I feel abandoned. EXCUSE
Beer is celebratory. EXCUSE/TRUE
Beer is comfort when life is shite. TRUE/EXCUSE
Beer is good with Wings TRUE
I'm British...beer is good TRUE
2 beer (Pints) helps me be sociable, 3 up to 8 makes me an irritable, instagating Asshole TRUE
Unfortunately, due to my endless shite Life Planning, I can't really afford good beer TRUE
I drive for a living, beer is bad. TRUE
I LOVE the flavour of various styles of beer. TRUE
Chances are, if I've had enough beer, I do stuff I wouldn't typically do. (the jury is still out on this one but I added it for the purpose of "level field" I mean, who's the judge? I could get away with so much with "YOU" that I couldn't possibly get away with "YOU" for instance. Follow me?)
In any event, right now I'm going to walk up to my Local and buy 1 can of ale as a celebratory FUCK YOU!
If you happen to see me in the next little while or invite me along to a thing and I decline beer, mention this and don't offer me beer and PLEASE CONTINUE TO HELP ME! I love beer....but I love you more!
Peace
So let's review....
Beer helps my chronic back pain. Legit but an EXCUSE
Beer helps me fall asleep when my financial burdens surface and I hold a low paying job AGAIN. (I guess I chose it.) EXCUSE
Beer helps me assume all is well when I feel lonely. EXCUSE
Beer helps me cope when I feel abandoned. EXCUSE
Beer is celebratory. EXCUSE/TRUE
Beer is comfort when life is shite. TRUE/EXCUSE
Beer is good with Wings TRUE
I'm British...beer is good TRUE
2 beer (Pints) helps me be sociable, 3 up to 8 makes me an irritable, instagating Asshole TRUE
Unfortunately, due to my endless shite Life Planning, I can't really afford good beer TRUE
I drive for a living, beer is bad. TRUE
I LOVE the flavour of various styles of beer. TRUE
Chances are, if I've had enough beer, I do stuff I wouldn't typically do. (the jury is still out on this one but I added it for the purpose of "level field" I mean, who's the judge? I could get away with so much with "YOU" that I couldn't possibly get away with "YOU" for instance. Follow me?)
In any event, right now I'm going to walk up to my Local and buy 1 can of ale as a celebratory FUCK YOU!
If you happen to see me in the next little while or invite me along to a thing and I decline beer, mention this and don't offer me beer and PLEASE CONTINUE TO HELP ME! I love beer....but I love you more!
Peace
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
That burning sensation of your personal business
I was asked to marry a couple about 3 months ago. I was flattered and teary eyed. Of course I said YES!
I met her HIM just before they asked me but I've known her for about 15 years. She's 25 now I think and the closest its been to marrying my daughter. I wept controlled tears of joy during the outdoor ceremony, I lost it in private.
Time waits for no one! Was I ever 25? Who was I 27 years ago? Did I have dreams? Was I merely surviving a mental barrage of information based on stupid life choices and no game/life plan?
Is my suffering today a direct result of being a dumb shit with no council so long ago?
My (no) money is on YES!
So the wedding...I was asked to wear to my Utilikilt (look 'em up and get your guy one) and of course I agreed happily!
It was 30+ degrees C in Okotoks that day and I was nervous. I wear the kilt in the tradition of Ancient wearers of old...on it's own!
But man did I sweat that day! Nerves you know?
So yeah, the wedding was a brilliant success and all is well! People danced into the night blah blah blah.
The next day, I went on an 11 km hike along side a river that disappeared now and then as we climbed small mountainous trails.
More sweat...no kilt freedom for me!
I could feel my discomfort growing as the temperature between my thighs began to rise. It wasn't pretty I can assure you! How on Earth did the Scots ride horses let alone fight?
Anyway, I was with 2 people half my age, even so I kept up with their enthusiasm along the intermediate trails...but secretly I was suffering. I'm sure any bear that chanced by would turn his nose up to this well-done morsel!
It became apparent to me that the Gods of Moderate Endowment were playing a trick on my pride with every step, they blessed me with a nasty rash!
Oh to squat in that river! To feel it's cooling embrace...but no. Soldier on! Walk in the fire!Stagger through the sting!
I eventually made it through that trip and the short work week of driving truck (in agony) before my motorcycle trip with my wife for our 25th.
Our bike trip was brilliant! Sunshine Coast, Gibsons, Davis Bay, Powell River, Port Alberni, Tofino, Ucluelet, Maple Bay etc. We saw many friends and had loads of fun, but my rash increased in fury!
Oh how I wish I was making this up!
Afterwards, I returned to work on the hot truck with slightly teary eyes replacing the usual spring in my step, that bloody rash was migrating regardless of creams, air, ointments and petitions to the gods that cast it upon me in the first place. I had given in. Without knowing the game, I surrendered to them.
Alas...they've not yet granted me audience nor given any relief 4 weeks on.
So today, I'm down in Vancouver's "skid row" doing one of my usual drops and I chat with one of my usual acquaintances. He lives in one of those 12X12 rooms that cost over $500 month. They call them SRO's... dumps in Single Room Occupancy hotels that the City of Vancouver and Her Mayour Gregor Robinson continue to allow to exist. (must be a profit thing or cash promises from future Developers)
So I'm grumbling the way I usually do and my guy grabs at his crotch unapologetically and violently scratches it a few times as if he's on fire...
I tell him "Dude, I know that dance step..."
He says "Yes...fucking bed bugs. I hate them!"
Suddenly my non-parasitic rash earned outdoors in the country whilst breathing fresh air taking exercise isn't all that bad!
Peace.
I met her HIM just before they asked me but I've known her for about 15 years. She's 25 now I think and the closest its been to marrying my daughter. I wept controlled tears of joy during the outdoor ceremony, I lost it in private.
Time waits for no one! Was I ever 25? Who was I 27 years ago? Did I have dreams? Was I merely surviving a mental barrage of information based on stupid life choices and no game/life plan?
Is my suffering today a direct result of being a dumb shit with no council so long ago?
My (no) money is on YES!
So the wedding...I was asked to wear to my Utilikilt (look 'em up and get your guy one) and of course I agreed happily!
It was 30+ degrees C in Okotoks that day and I was nervous. I wear the kilt in the tradition of Ancient wearers of old...on it's own!
But man did I sweat that day! Nerves you know?
So yeah, the wedding was a brilliant success and all is well! People danced into the night blah blah blah.
The next day, I went on an 11 km hike along side a river that disappeared now and then as we climbed small mountainous trails.
More sweat...no kilt freedom for me!
I could feel my discomfort growing as the temperature between my thighs began to rise. It wasn't pretty I can assure you! How on Earth did the Scots ride horses let alone fight?
Anyway, I was with 2 people half my age, even so I kept up with their enthusiasm along the intermediate trails...but secretly I was suffering. I'm sure any bear that chanced by would turn his nose up to this well-done morsel!
It became apparent to me that the Gods of Moderate Endowment were playing a trick on my pride with every step, they blessed me with a nasty rash!
Oh to squat in that river! To feel it's cooling embrace...but no. Soldier on! Walk in the fire!Stagger through the sting!
I eventually made it through that trip and the short work week of driving truck (in agony) before my motorcycle trip with my wife for our 25th.
Our bike trip was brilliant! Sunshine Coast, Gibsons, Davis Bay, Powell River, Port Alberni, Tofino, Ucluelet, Maple Bay etc. We saw many friends and had loads of fun, but my rash increased in fury!
Oh how I wish I was making this up!
Afterwards, I returned to work on the hot truck with slightly teary eyes replacing the usual spring in my step, that bloody rash was migrating regardless of creams, air, ointments and petitions to the gods that cast it upon me in the first place. I had given in. Without knowing the game, I surrendered to them.
Alas...they've not yet granted me audience nor given any relief 4 weeks on.
So today, I'm down in Vancouver's "skid row" doing one of my usual drops and I chat with one of my usual acquaintances. He lives in one of those 12X12 rooms that cost over $500 month. They call them SRO's... dumps in Single Room Occupancy hotels that the City of Vancouver and Her Mayour Gregor Robinson continue to allow to exist. (must be a profit thing or cash promises from future Developers)
So I'm grumbling the way I usually do and my guy grabs at his crotch unapologetically and violently scratches it a few times as if he's on fire...
I tell him "Dude, I know that dance step..."
He says "Yes...fucking bed bugs. I hate them!"
Suddenly my non-parasitic rash earned outdoors in the country whilst breathing fresh air taking exercise isn't all that bad!
Peace.
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
take stock.
THIS POST IS GRAPHIC!!
I was with my friend Red today. I'm not allowed to tell you his real name because the police and some other guys want to talk to him. I know a bit of the story...I know too much.
I can use his nickname because you won't meet him unless you walk around those nasty areas in Vancouver's DTES and bump into him.
My wife has met him and likes him. He likes her. My 21 year old daughter met him today...I think she likes him but to be fair, she doesn't mind "those people".
Red punishes the scales at 356 pounds, has a bald head since he was 19 so he says (he's 47) several Confederate Flag tattoos and uses words to describe people of colour that I won't repeat here or anywhere...you get the idea.
Red has a HUGE heart! He looks out for the Sex Trade Workers that (we) know and lives in the battle zone. I get to go home every night.
One day, my daughter was on the truck with me helping out and hanging out doing my usual route. Red caught wind of some of what some of the local guys said about her (unheard by me) What they'd like to do with her...
Red went off the rails!
"THATS HIS FUCKING DAUGHTER! YOU TOUCH HER, YOU LOOK AT HER, YOU GO NEAR HER AND I'LL BREAK SOME BONES"
He's a good guy to avoid if he's in a bad mood. (today, when Red met my daughter, he said "If ever you have any problem when you're down there, say my name...you'll be ok") I think I believe him.
Red lets the local women sleep at his place when they're scared, sick or hurting. He's described the arrangement but you don't need to know that.
I've met several of these women who are deeply trapped in addiction leading to horrific poverty and daily doses of hell, they all have stories. They all had dreams. They're not just "whores"!
Facebook trolls give more passion towards beat dogs and starved kittens then they do towards these fellow humans.But who am I to judge? (oh right...)
I met a young woman today who is addicted to heroin. She says she hits 3 or 4 times a day but doesn't know how much money it is. She gave a guy a blow job for $1.35 last week. I'd love to meet him after sunset.
I'll do you one better...her friend did the same thing for a car ashtray full of cigarette butts.
I don't make this stuff up. You want more?
Catch these women when they're not "hurting"
So normal sounding, so many dreams....
Are you ashamed of anything you've done? Don't judge these women for God's sake!
I gave LB a chocolate bar the other day, she couldn't beleive "no strings". This woman is stunning! Great personality, hoarse voice, full figure, big eyes, strong legs, big smile...HIV positive, persistent cough, delusional, bruises everywhere, teeth missing, staggers as she walks, drifts in and out of consciousness, and needs dope.
I quite like her. Honestly, she must have been a knockout before dope...she still has glimmers of "oh damn" but they're fading fast.
Brandy (regular local woman) ate a 5 lb bag of gummie bears in about 15 minutes today. That was quite a feat. Sugar you see. I kinda thought they'd last her. Lesson learned. (is that even a bad thing?)
Another woman stole a roll of paper towels from Red's room (SRO) the other day...she didn't have any tampons. He forgave her.
Every week end Red sprays "the raid" around his room and door because no one else on his floor does. Red is bed bug and cockroach free.
At $575 month, the room is clostrophobic. But hell, he has a window!
Times are tough! My house lives paycheque to paycheque. If we're careful, we can waste money on beer and the odd meal out.
In saying that, we have a rented home, insurance, a van, a motorbike both insured, health benefits, internet, iPhones, clothes, foods, hobbies, family, friends...the list goes on.
No real reason to bitch!
I was with my friend Red today. I'm not allowed to tell you his real name because the police and some other guys want to talk to him. I know a bit of the story...I know too much.
I can use his nickname because you won't meet him unless you walk around those nasty areas in Vancouver's DTES and bump into him.
My wife has met him and likes him. He likes her. My 21 year old daughter met him today...I think she likes him but to be fair, she doesn't mind "those people".
Red punishes the scales at 356 pounds, has a bald head since he was 19 so he says (he's 47) several Confederate Flag tattoos and uses words to describe people of colour that I won't repeat here or anywhere...you get the idea.
Red has a HUGE heart! He looks out for the Sex Trade Workers that (we) know and lives in the battle zone. I get to go home every night.
One day, my daughter was on the truck with me helping out and hanging out doing my usual route. Red caught wind of some of what some of the local guys said about her (unheard by me) What they'd like to do with her...
Red went off the rails!
"THATS HIS FUCKING DAUGHTER! YOU TOUCH HER, YOU LOOK AT HER, YOU GO NEAR HER AND I'LL BREAK SOME BONES"
He's a good guy to avoid if he's in a bad mood. (today, when Red met my daughter, he said "If ever you have any problem when you're down there, say my name...you'll be ok") I think I believe him.
Red lets the local women sleep at his place when they're scared, sick or hurting. He's described the arrangement but you don't need to know that.
I've met several of these women who are deeply trapped in addiction leading to horrific poverty and daily doses of hell, they all have stories. They all had dreams. They're not just "whores"!
Facebook trolls give more passion towards beat dogs and starved kittens then they do towards these fellow humans.But who am I to judge? (oh right...)
I met a young woman today who is addicted to heroin. She says she hits 3 or 4 times a day but doesn't know how much money it is. She gave a guy a blow job for $1.35 last week. I'd love to meet him after sunset.
I'll do you one better...her friend did the same thing for a car ashtray full of cigarette butts.
I don't make this stuff up. You want more?
Catch these women when they're not "hurting"
So normal sounding, so many dreams....
Are you ashamed of anything you've done? Don't judge these women for God's sake!
I gave LB a chocolate bar the other day, she couldn't beleive "no strings". This woman is stunning! Great personality, hoarse voice, full figure, big eyes, strong legs, big smile...HIV positive, persistent cough, delusional, bruises everywhere, teeth missing, staggers as she walks, drifts in and out of consciousness, and needs dope.
I quite like her. Honestly, she must have been a knockout before dope...she still has glimmers of "oh damn" but they're fading fast.
Brandy (regular local woman) ate a 5 lb bag of gummie bears in about 15 minutes today. That was quite a feat. Sugar you see. I kinda thought they'd last her. Lesson learned. (is that even a bad thing?)
Another woman stole a roll of paper towels from Red's room (SRO) the other day...she didn't have any tampons. He forgave her.
Every week end Red sprays "the raid" around his room and door because no one else on his floor does. Red is bed bug and cockroach free.
At $575 month, the room is clostrophobic. But hell, he has a window!
Times are tough! My house lives paycheque to paycheque. If we're careful, we can waste money on beer and the odd meal out.
In saying that, we have a rented home, insurance, a van, a motorbike both insured, health benefits, internet, iPhones, clothes, foods, hobbies, family, friends...the list goes on.
No real reason to bitch!
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Slap in the face like a 2x4
I'm a bitchy cuss, I admit it. I have to LOOK for the good during each breath or I see the bad. What the hell, I'm British...I come by it honestly. Harry was a brilliant professor and I was a remarkable pupil!
So, in the vein of negative shite, have you ever read something someone wrote about you that they thought you'd never see or would fold like a cheap Walmart tent if they knew that you DID read it? Was it an ad? A reference? A comment on social network that slithered into your sight unbeknownst to the author...or worse? Something penned by a loved one or dear friend??
How do you deal with it? How DID you cope?
I don't give a rip about what strangers think or say about me. In fact...I could care less what acquaintances say or think.....
The thing that stings is what CLOSE friends or Family say. The stuff that they don't have the balls to say to your face...but write it down, gossip about it within family circles or they try to shroud it on social network sites (use your friggin' skulls, people)
During a recent trip to Alberta to perform a wedding ceremony between a couple I've known from a youth group I led years ago, I recalled the horrific gossip that oozed around the County about me in several towns as I drove past my former neighbourhood.
Three Hills, Acme and Linden.
All the shite said ABOUT me (never in direct earshot) apparently occured while I served as Associate Pastor at a very busy Alliance church for several years.
CHICKENSHIT GOSSIPERS!
(Thankless gig. I DO NOT recommend any kind of "job" within a Christian organization!)
The BS one particular 40+ woman conjured up about me without witness or corrorborating testimony could have landed me in jail! I asked the bitch for proof in front of witnesses...she couldn't deliver, but the local, gutless, faceless Kangaroo Court she rallied together had already deliberated without any incriminating fact. I guess as Pastor, I wasn't doing what she wanted and she rallied her mindless friends. Such are closed-minded Christians focused entirely on themselves.
So, my bit? I pray I never set eyes on her again! I wish her no ill will, but I hope she fades away to BLACK.
I pray for her kids...God help them remove her teaching from their hearts....
I was driving the 5-ton around Vancouver today. I'm a professional driver but I still manage to daydream at the odd red light. Today, my thoughts centered around how Family see me vs how Friends see me vs how Acquaintances see me.
Acquaintances: Binners, Strangers asking for money, Humans in wheelchairs, Addicted Sex-trade Workers, Welfare Bums, Mentally ill and Criminals that I chat with daily vs Friends that have known me for years vs Family that have known me forever...
You wanna know the truth? I think Acquaintances peg me most accurately. I don't hide a fucking thing from them.
So...the title of this post: Slap in the face like a 2X4?
I was chatting with a guy asking for coins that I often SEE outside a Government liquor store (he doesn't want me to use his name)
He saw and heard my motorbike.
He used to race dirt bikes. Modified dirt bikes. He talked like he's either lived it and was highly skilled or rehearsed it to the point that he's 1970's current and trying to gain street creed. Buddy is in a motorized wheelchair! Legs don't do what his brain asks and arms and hands protest every order.
I think he raced in the day.
Buddy pegged my heart, he identified a few of my passions and thanked me for chatting with him again (as possible spare change walked by) he challenged me (I'm not telling what he said) and shook my hand with his. If I shut my eyes, I'd describe the sensation as holding a bare tree branch in a storm. But you know what? I felt Love, Compassion and Sincerity.
So...all this to say that I really don't care what you write about me in secret, whisper in the shadows or veil in snide social network comments.
I'll breathe deep with the people you may not see...because you know what?
THEY SEE!!!!!!!
Peace
So, in the vein of negative shite, have you ever read something someone wrote about you that they thought you'd never see or would fold like a cheap Walmart tent if they knew that you DID read it? Was it an ad? A reference? A comment on social network that slithered into your sight unbeknownst to the author...or worse? Something penned by a loved one or dear friend??
How do you deal with it? How DID you cope?
I don't give a rip about what strangers think or say about me. In fact...I could care less what acquaintances say or think.....
The thing that stings is what CLOSE friends or Family say. The stuff that they don't have the balls to say to your face...but write it down, gossip about it within family circles or they try to shroud it on social network sites (use your friggin' skulls, people)
During a recent trip to Alberta to perform a wedding ceremony between a couple I've known from a youth group I led years ago, I recalled the horrific gossip that oozed around the County about me in several towns as I drove past my former neighbourhood.
Three Hills, Acme and Linden.
All the shite said ABOUT me (never in direct earshot) apparently occured while I served as Associate Pastor at a very busy Alliance church for several years.
CHICKENSHIT GOSSIPERS!
(Thankless gig. I DO NOT recommend any kind of "job" within a Christian organization!)
The BS one particular 40+ woman conjured up about me without witness or corrorborating testimony could have landed me in jail! I asked the bitch for proof in front of witnesses...she couldn't deliver, but the local, gutless, faceless Kangaroo Court she rallied together had already deliberated without any incriminating fact. I guess as Pastor, I wasn't doing what she wanted and she rallied her mindless friends. Such are closed-minded Christians focused entirely on themselves.
So, my bit? I pray I never set eyes on her again! I wish her no ill will, but I hope she fades away to BLACK.
I pray for her kids...God help them remove her teaching from their hearts....
I was driving the 5-ton around Vancouver today. I'm a professional driver but I still manage to daydream at the odd red light. Today, my thoughts centered around how Family see me vs how Friends see me vs how Acquaintances see me.
Acquaintances: Binners, Strangers asking for money, Humans in wheelchairs, Addicted Sex-trade Workers, Welfare Bums, Mentally ill and Criminals that I chat with daily vs Friends that have known me for years vs Family that have known me forever...
You wanna know the truth? I think Acquaintances peg me most accurately. I don't hide a fucking thing from them.
So...the title of this post: Slap in the face like a 2X4?
I was chatting with a guy asking for coins that I often SEE outside a Government liquor store (he doesn't want me to use his name)
He saw and heard my motorbike.
He used to race dirt bikes. Modified dirt bikes. He talked like he's either lived it and was highly skilled or rehearsed it to the point that he's 1970's current and trying to gain street creed. Buddy is in a motorized wheelchair! Legs don't do what his brain asks and arms and hands protest every order.
I think he raced in the day.
Buddy pegged my heart, he identified a few of my passions and thanked me for chatting with him again (as possible spare change walked by) he challenged me (I'm not telling what he said) and shook my hand with his. If I shut my eyes, I'd describe the sensation as holding a bare tree branch in a storm. But you know what? I felt Love, Compassion and Sincerity.
So...all this to say that I really don't care what you write about me in secret, whisper in the shadows or veil in snide social network comments.
I'll breathe deep with the people you may not see...because you know what?
THEY SEE!!!!!!!
Peace
Sunday, June 14, 2015
Looking down while walking is rude.
There's this woman who writes poetry in Vancouver, she walks the streets and will "sell you one for a dollar". She'll read one, you pay, she tries to sell another...then she carries on. I was with my wife once, she gave us one for free. I didn't listen to her words I must admit. Instead, I just stared at her face and drank in her emotions. She looks a bit like Janis Joplin did crossed with that scary hippy biker chic on the film CC and Company. (Damn Anne Margaret had it going on! But really...Joe Namoth?)
Sorry....I'm back.
She isn't completely fit mentally but who is if we're completely honest right? I mean there was plenty of evidence suggesting she has her own issues and perhaps has medication too, but more than that, she has more guts than you or even I do. She's working through stuff, she's out there, she's sharing herself.
"More guts" may not be a fair comment. More ambition? Less inhibition? Less care about what other humans think?
She's the type of person you might wish to avoid should she suddenly appear on the pavement in front of you as you walk merrily along. You may not have even noticed her until she spoke to you directly...but she was there.
Think of your own hobby. Do you have the confidence to walk about the city peddling Its result to tourists, restaurant patrons and bar/club bound people? Not sure I do. I do however chat with people because I love people and their stories. I also dislike too many people.
When the people I do love do something that I interpret as "hurting me" I get confused. Why would people do that? Friends, family, mates at work...perhaps the transgression is a fabrication in my mind. Perhaps it wasn't deliberate. Perhaps the timing was off. Perhaps I'm too delicate or self-absorbed. YOU MUST ALWAYS MEET MY NEEDS kind of BS.
Truth is, we don't even know what our needs are do we? They're as ever changing as colours in a year of sunsets. Sure, our basic needs are obvious to the degree that we don't verbalize them let alone think of them, but what of those quiet little silly ones?
The hugs you need. The missing compliment on a fresh hair style or outfit. The gasp he didn't give as you sauntered past in lingerie. How she didn't mention she noticed how the colours were plated on food you prepared...
Maybe we need the ovaries of Poetry Woman. Perhaps we need to start asking outright and forget about clues or hoping that we'll get stroked the moment we need it. God knows I could learn from my ramblings.
When people I don't know or "love" hurt me, I'm reminded that I have no good connection with them, just a fleeting negative one. A rude woman in a queue, an ignorant guy driving like a fool, an elitist cyclist etcetera.
I'm reminded that there are over 7 billion humans on Earth and I only know a few.
I love surprising strangers and asking them to tell me a story. People usually share pleasant experiences that is, until we become friends...then the negative events are passed around. To me, this is a sure sign of needing to be heard. Needing to be understood. Needing to be needed...to be loved.
I'm not here to even slightly suggest that you rush right on out and make more friends though. Think of it in truth; friendship is one hell of an obligation that we all take too lightly. Being a friend is a massive responsibility with huge expectations intertwined within the accord. Being a Lover carries even more joy and burden!
We're too tired to be a friend. We're too self absorbed to be a good Lover. WE pick and choose mates, times and events. That's ok, really it is.
The church calls it "burn out" when Pastors get tired being friendly. I'm not sure what we call it though.
Perhaps we need to call a friend. Better still, knock on their door.
After all...looking down while walking along is not only rude, its lonely.
Peace.
Sorry....I'm back.
She isn't completely fit mentally but who is if we're completely honest right? I mean there was plenty of evidence suggesting she has her own issues and perhaps has medication too, but more than that, she has more guts than you or even I do. She's working through stuff, she's out there, she's sharing herself.
"More guts" may not be a fair comment. More ambition? Less inhibition? Less care about what other humans think?
She's the type of person you might wish to avoid should she suddenly appear on the pavement in front of you as you walk merrily along. You may not have even noticed her until she spoke to you directly...but she was there.
Think of your own hobby. Do you have the confidence to walk about the city peddling Its result to tourists, restaurant patrons and bar/club bound people? Not sure I do. I do however chat with people because I love people and their stories. I also dislike too many people.
When the people I do love do something that I interpret as "hurting me" I get confused. Why would people do that? Friends, family, mates at work...perhaps the transgression is a fabrication in my mind. Perhaps it wasn't deliberate. Perhaps the timing was off. Perhaps I'm too delicate or self-absorbed. YOU MUST ALWAYS MEET MY NEEDS kind of BS.
Truth is, we don't even know what our needs are do we? They're as ever changing as colours in a year of sunsets. Sure, our basic needs are obvious to the degree that we don't verbalize them let alone think of them, but what of those quiet little silly ones?
The hugs you need. The missing compliment on a fresh hair style or outfit. The gasp he didn't give as you sauntered past in lingerie. How she didn't mention she noticed how the colours were plated on food you prepared...
Maybe we need the ovaries of Poetry Woman. Perhaps we need to start asking outright and forget about clues or hoping that we'll get stroked the moment we need it. God knows I could learn from my ramblings.
When people I don't know or "love" hurt me, I'm reminded that I have no good connection with them, just a fleeting negative one. A rude woman in a queue, an ignorant guy driving like a fool, an elitist cyclist etcetera.
I'm reminded that there are over 7 billion humans on Earth and I only know a few.
I love surprising strangers and asking them to tell me a story. People usually share pleasant experiences that is, until we become friends...then the negative events are passed around. To me, this is a sure sign of needing to be heard. Needing to be understood. Needing to be needed...to be loved.
I'm not here to even slightly suggest that you rush right on out and make more friends though. Think of it in truth; friendship is one hell of an obligation that we all take too lightly. Being a friend is a massive responsibility with huge expectations intertwined within the accord. Being a Lover carries even more joy and burden!
We're too tired to be a friend. We're too self absorbed to be a good Lover. WE pick and choose mates, times and events. That's ok, really it is.
The church calls it "burn out" when Pastors get tired being friendly. I'm not sure what we call it though.
Perhaps we need to call a friend. Better still, knock on their door.
After all...looking down while walking along is not only rude, its lonely.
Peace.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Special K IS pretty special
It's just gone 4am today and I'm doing another graveyard shift at the grouphome. This is the 5th one this month on top of working 40+ hour weeks driving a 5 ton.
I can't tell you about the kids at this place because they're minors, suffice it to say that there are not many "good" stories here.
Harry used to work in corrections. He landed a job at Oakalla prison here in BC and after several years there moved on to work out of a halfway house in South Vancouver on Hudson St. in the Marpole area. I couldn't imagine the Blue Bloods in that area allowing a house like that up there now! In fact, the original site is about 7 minutes from my home. Funny how things go.
If you don't know, a halfway house is where convicted criminals live upon release from prison to begin the process of reintegration with society while still providing monitoring and support. The Offenders get meals, a room and a program in addition to whatever their parole conditions are. Some end up back in prison unfortunately.
Opening a new halfway house is often opposed by vocal people called NIMBYs ( Not In My Back Yard ) To be honest, I wouldn't want to live within a community of NIMBY's.
Anyway, the reason I tell you this is that I get lonely on this shift if the kids are away or asleep like tonight and I'm Missing Harry.
Harry was my dad if you didn't know...
Harry did shiftwork for about the last 20 years of his work life. You gotta admire a guy for that don't you?
In my mind's eye as a child and a teen, I can see Harry waving goodbye as he drove off to work in the different cars he owned throughout the years.
A 59 Pontiac Stratochief, 66 Pontiac Parisienne, an "in the meantime" 74 AMC Hornet until his 75 AMC Pacer came in and finally his 81 Chevy Caprice Estate wagon, the last car he'd drive.
He had to wear a uniform in Prison and hated the green colour and the tie. He hated anything even close to formal or military. I come by that formal bit honestly so it would seem.
The 70's were innovative years, so much changing so quickly. As a kid, I'm sure I missed a lot of things but I recall lots!
Harry hated it if mum "kept his dinner warm" in the oven under tin foil. I can still hear him "June (my mum) for Christ's sake, leave it on the counter Love. It's horrible all dried out like this."
He adored her, don't get me wrong! He was a crusty Brit is all. We eventually got a 60 lb microwave in the very late 70's. Probably from Sears...they were loyal to that place.
Harry wouldn't take food to work with him. I suppose they had meals in the house and leftovers like here, but the man was very picky...probably didn't eat. He DID take a little plug-in kettle and a few tea bags though. No tea there? Seemed odd even then. I can still see the fold-over baggie. No ziplocks then.
Somewhere along the line, Harry found a little black and white portable TV to take along. He could get 3 channels. Imagine 3 channels back in the 70's early 80's. What was even on during the lonely hours?
Lonely. Harry had 1 friend. Dave. ( Dave worked at the house and drove one of those very cool 70's Volvo P1800 E coupes. It was copper coloured. Ugly choice.)
I don't know how Harry managed lonely. Maybe he never got lonely? I get lonely. I'm lonely now.
Harry told me a few work stories in later years over beers in strip bars. Like the time he flushed the toilet at the house and the tank seemed "quick" to fill. He lifted the lid and found 2 bottles of Vodka.
Did he fill in a report? Nope...he tipped the spirit down the sink, filled the bottles with water and put them back where he found them. He said he never heard a word about it.
He played tricks on his work mates often, I wish I could recall some to tell you.
Some mornings, when I was still very young, I'd hear Harry get up and put the kettle on and I'd get up too. School was hours away but often I'd pretend I couldn't sleep just so I could sit with him before he left. We didn't really talk about anything. What is there to say to a little kid as you're getting ready for work?
I recall feeling sad for him though. I don't remember why I felt that way, I just recall the emotion as if it happened only yesterday.
A cup of tea and a bowl of Special K cereal, every time I got up...and I did it many times, that's what he was having for breakfast on day shift mornings. He ate, I sat...it was quiet. Damn I wish I remembered if we talked!
You know, I've tried Special K and I don't get the appeal...but sometimes, in a grocery store when I see it there, I look around in case someone is watching and if not...I touch the box.
I can't tell you about the kids at this place because they're minors, suffice it to say that there are not many "good" stories here.
Harry used to work in corrections. He landed a job at Oakalla prison here in BC and after several years there moved on to work out of a halfway house in South Vancouver on Hudson St. in the Marpole area. I couldn't imagine the Blue Bloods in that area allowing a house like that up there now! In fact, the original site is about 7 minutes from my home. Funny how things go.
If you don't know, a halfway house is where convicted criminals live upon release from prison to begin the process of reintegration with society while still providing monitoring and support. The Offenders get meals, a room and a program in addition to whatever their parole conditions are. Some end up back in prison unfortunately.
Opening a new halfway house is often opposed by vocal people called NIMBYs ( Not In My Back Yard ) To be honest, I wouldn't want to live within a community of NIMBY's.
Anyway, the reason I tell you this is that I get lonely on this shift if the kids are away or asleep like tonight and I'm Missing Harry.
Harry was my dad if you didn't know...
Harry did shiftwork for about the last 20 years of his work life. You gotta admire a guy for that don't you?
In my mind's eye as a child and a teen, I can see Harry waving goodbye as he drove off to work in the different cars he owned throughout the years.
A 59 Pontiac Stratochief, 66 Pontiac Parisienne, an "in the meantime" 74 AMC Hornet until his 75 AMC Pacer came in and finally his 81 Chevy Caprice Estate wagon, the last car he'd drive.
He had to wear a uniform in Prison and hated the green colour and the tie. He hated anything even close to formal or military. I come by that formal bit honestly so it would seem.
The 70's were innovative years, so much changing so quickly. As a kid, I'm sure I missed a lot of things but I recall lots!
Harry hated it if mum "kept his dinner warm" in the oven under tin foil. I can still hear him "June (my mum) for Christ's sake, leave it on the counter Love. It's horrible all dried out like this."
He adored her, don't get me wrong! He was a crusty Brit is all. We eventually got a 60 lb microwave in the very late 70's. Probably from Sears...they were loyal to that place.
Harry wouldn't take food to work with him. I suppose they had meals in the house and leftovers like here, but the man was very picky...probably didn't eat. He DID take a little plug-in kettle and a few tea bags though. No tea there? Seemed odd even then. I can still see the fold-over baggie. No ziplocks then.
Somewhere along the line, Harry found a little black and white portable TV to take along. He could get 3 channels. Imagine 3 channels back in the 70's early 80's. What was even on during the lonely hours?
Lonely. Harry had 1 friend. Dave. ( Dave worked at the house and drove one of those very cool 70's Volvo P1800 E coupes. It was copper coloured. Ugly choice.)
I don't know how Harry managed lonely. Maybe he never got lonely? I get lonely. I'm lonely now.
Harry told me a few work stories in later years over beers in strip bars. Like the time he flushed the toilet at the house and the tank seemed "quick" to fill. He lifted the lid and found 2 bottles of Vodka.
Did he fill in a report? Nope...he tipped the spirit down the sink, filled the bottles with water and put them back where he found them. He said he never heard a word about it.
He played tricks on his work mates often, I wish I could recall some to tell you.
Some mornings, when I was still very young, I'd hear Harry get up and put the kettle on and I'd get up too. School was hours away but often I'd pretend I couldn't sleep just so I could sit with him before he left. We didn't really talk about anything. What is there to say to a little kid as you're getting ready for work?
I recall feeling sad for him though. I don't remember why I felt that way, I just recall the emotion as if it happened only yesterday.
A cup of tea and a bowl of Special K cereal, every time I got up...and I did it many times, that's what he was having for breakfast on day shift mornings. He ate, I sat...it was quiet. Damn I wish I remembered if we talked!
You know, I've tried Special K and I don't get the appeal...but sometimes, in a grocery store when I see it there, I look around in case someone is watching and if not...I touch the box.
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Why does cerebral drama occur at night?
We've all got our shit to deal with. Unfortunately, others also have our shit to deal with too. You don't get to pick and choose how other people will respond to your madness or selfishness, but you may have to live with it.
Blow out is often seen as bad karma, but really...maybe you earned it.
I had a dream the other night. I don't put too much stock into dreams because as Ebenezer Scrooge says, "you may be the effect of an under cooked potato or a bit of undigested beef"
Never the less, my dreams are telling.
I recently had a dream wherein my wife put down her instrument in the middle of a jam we often attend to walk over to me and point out the 6 men that she had recently slept with. (caveat, she hasn't...)
I woke up mad.
Another nocturnal event had me shouting at my boss for being an utter tit with no clue about the daily goings on. Albeit true, I'd never resort to a public thrashing such as that.
I'm a news junkie. I had a dream that the jet I was on crashed into the sea. Many were lost...horribly. Victims were dismembered, burnt and bloated. I survived via a short swim. The dream was so vivid that I woke with heavy guilt that I survived while many perished.
Another dream, I lost an arm. No idea how...but for a motorcyclist and photographer, this is NOT good news. I just sat in a white room and cried.
So why is it that we can fumble through our respective days oblivious to our deepest fears and anguish?
Why, on our pillow, does all the shit slide down the wall and onto our brain?
What's your poison? Debt, age, health, kids, unfaithful spouse, middle age, aging parents, rebellious kids...
Why do our thoughts overtake us the moment we're meant to recharge...reboot...rejuvenate?
How many books have been written by authors with all the answers? ( we all know that they lay awake at night too! Save your money!!)
We try so many tactics and angles to sleep.
SEX, tea, lavender, reading, yoga, stretching, meditation, prayer, reading, massage, alcohol, snacks...
I may have missed your favourite angle, but I bet you lay awake too.
My brain is a convincing lier. My brain whilst horizontal on my pillow has a way of nullifying the effects of my citalopram and thereby convincingly whispering everything to me in the language I trust, everything I dread or fear about YOU or me! ESPECIALLY what I think of me and what I think that YOU think of me!
This is quite like chasing a feather in the wind.
Blow out is often seen as bad karma, but really...maybe you earned it.
I had a dream the other night. I don't put too much stock into dreams because as Ebenezer Scrooge says, "you may be the effect of an under cooked potato or a bit of undigested beef"
Never the less, my dreams are telling.
I recently had a dream wherein my wife put down her instrument in the middle of a jam we often attend to walk over to me and point out the 6 men that she had recently slept with. (caveat, she hasn't...)
I woke up mad.
Another nocturnal event had me shouting at my boss for being an utter tit with no clue about the daily goings on. Albeit true, I'd never resort to a public thrashing such as that.
I'm a news junkie. I had a dream that the jet I was on crashed into the sea. Many were lost...horribly. Victims were dismembered, burnt and bloated. I survived via a short swim. The dream was so vivid that I woke with heavy guilt that I survived while many perished.
Another dream, I lost an arm. No idea how...but for a motorcyclist and photographer, this is NOT good news. I just sat in a white room and cried.
So why is it that we can fumble through our respective days oblivious to our deepest fears and anguish?
Why, on our pillow, does all the shit slide down the wall and onto our brain?
What's your poison? Debt, age, health, kids, unfaithful spouse, middle age, aging parents, rebellious kids...
Why do our thoughts overtake us the moment we're meant to recharge...reboot...rejuvenate?
How many books have been written by authors with all the answers? ( we all know that they lay awake at night too! Save your money!!)
We try so many tactics and angles to sleep.
SEX, tea, lavender, reading, yoga, stretching, meditation, prayer, reading, massage, alcohol, snacks...
I may have missed your favourite angle, but I bet you lay awake too.
My brain is a convincing lier. My brain whilst horizontal on my pillow has a way of nullifying the effects of my citalopram and thereby convincingly whispering everything to me in the language I trust, everything I dread or fear about YOU or me! ESPECIALLY what I think of me and what I think that YOU think of me!
This is quite like chasing a feather in the wind.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
the thundering cranial pageant of being Right
Forgive my absence...busy you know?
So I went to Vancouver's 420 "celebration" in order to garner an informed opinion. I don't do weed (drugs) but I'm not opposed to "organics".
Here's the caveat, ANY illicit chemical concoction is absolutely out and I believe, for the record, that the people who abide in chemical drug experimentation are being absolutely reckless, ignorant and stupid. (To my friends that do chemicals, I love you...QUIT IT!)
Where was I?
Right...420. What a pathetic display! I'll get back to that in a shake (pun intended)
So I'm still on that anti-bummer drug citalopram and it seems to be helping. I liken it to a foggy car windshield. You can certainly drive the car with a muggy window but you're basing your operation of the vehicle within an opaque deficit if I can use the term. Drop a few milligrams of citalopram and it's like hitting the defogger switch. Now your decisions are based on clear, accurate information. No more conclusions made in the fog. I also have the balls to clarify information when necessary (insert ovaries if applicable)
I have a friend that has been on a cocktail of anti-depressants, anti-convulsive and anti-psychotic drugs for about 9 years. I really like him...but I often wonder who he REALLY is. Does he remember? Is that pre-dose guy a bastard? A disaster? Does he recall the gorgeous, heady odour of an apple pie cooling on a window sill in August? Do they do apple pies in skid row?
A friend of mine is on 350mg of happy drugs. I really enjoy her company! I love who she is today...
She tells me that she needs that amount. Who am I to say? What do I know. 10mg keeps this Tyro out of the Dark Places.
Like I said, I really like her...would I hang with her if she WASN'T on that dose? I think yes...but that remains to be seen. If anyone has earned Happy Drugs, its her by a long shot!
I stopped over at Steve's place. You remember Steve? Lives rough along the Fraser River, has that tent...well you should see his Shangri-La now! Buddy has a fine squat! I'd live there proudly. He found work and has even allowed a dude named Brock to "live" there for a few days until "his money starts coming in".
I'd way rather my tax money go to these guys BEFORE Harper's millionaire pals....but I digress.
Local news recently reported a fire in East Vancouver along Hastings that claimed the lives of 2 Squatters. 2 visitors to the derelict building slated for demolition to make way for the Strathcona Village condos were however rescued as they dangled from windows. They tried in vain to reach their friends, a 66 year old and her son (to be confirmed)
Every local news station is mute on this story now as backhoes clear the rubble. No flowers, no candles, no marker...no care.
Homelessness
Meanwhile in Richmond, arson claims the life of a woman and nearly kills her son. I keep hearing about THAT story!
Did I mention that the Strathcona fire was preceded by a "very loud hissing followed by a bang in the basement" ? No inquiry here...insurance claim is better than paying for demolition. (oh yes I did!)
I got a friend in the DTES who has a vice. I like him, but I hate his vice. Don't get me wrong, he's a hell of a guy standing in at 340 lbs but he can be as pissy as a picnic wasp after being swatted away from the Mennonite jello salad. The guy respects me, I call him on his bullshit and he threatens me if no one is around. He really likes my wife too.
His vice? Sex Trade Workers. He lives in a SRO hotel that is true shite and he trades a warm safe night for these women for...whatever they negotiate. I liken him to some parasitical crawler you know?
Like I said, I like him...hate the vice!
How best we govern our fondness of other humans only after we have clouded our opinions of them with our own moral code, community standard and prejudices?
To my knowledge, this guy has beaten at least 3 men because they continued to "bum" smokes off of an incredibly obese woman with mental health issues as she sat outside the local Mission. He too has a code that he lives by! He's like a Watcher of the Wretched. I tip my hat to him...but deep down I'd enjoy adjusting his attitude! God help me!
There was a room fire at recovery house for women mid last week. I stopped in as I do several times a week only to read a note on the door in big letters:
SORRY. YOU CAN NOT SLEEP HERE TONIGHT. YOU WILL HAVE TO GO TO TRIAGE, THEY HAVE ROOM. WE ARE WORKING AS FAST AS WE CAN TO CLEAN THIS UP
Ever seen Triage? What a jewell of a resource!
http://www.raincityhousing.org/what-we-do/emergency-housing/
But imagine if you will, coming home to that note. What a kick to the fragile mental well-being! Triage is amazing...but it isn't anyones home I don't think.
So...420
I've heard about this in the Grouphome, from guys on the street, the media blah blah blah but I'm a cynic. I had to see for myself. WHO is dying to get weed legal? WHO is using weed openly? WHO is hoping for change?
So I rode to the Art Gallery from work and spent 45 minutes trying to find parking. Our Mayor has really allowed City Hall to convert Vancouver into a NO CAR city. What a tool! Hard to park my motorbike? Really? ( I pay the same meter price as a car...only the City has given us designated spots. Not at a third the whack...full grab)
My heart sank as I walked thru a crush of under 20's smoking joints IN THE FACE of cops. They knew they'd not be bothered, so they acted quite appropriately like KIDS. I pressed on towards the band playing Bob Marley tunes (colour me shocked)
I passed a booth where 3 heavily tattooed clowns wearing American basketball attire amped up the sleepy crowd as they tried to keep their 1/2 pound joint lit. Is this the equivalent to chugging cokes? All I could think about was their resumes. They claim the weed has NO EFFECT on their abilities etc. So why smoke it? I'm so square! I've smoked weed once in over 2 decades. I'm talking out of my bum.
Tell ya what, tell me that you enjoy getting baked like a fresh caught trout in a cast iron skillet along the river and I'll give you my blessings...excuses? Isms? Piss off!
So on I squish.
I came upon the food trucks. What a display! I saw guys and pretty young women...girls really, attacking tacos, grilled cheese sandies, burritos and hotdogs like hyenas on a warm carcass blotting in the Serengeti Plain sun. There wasn't a crumb left on the pavement and I'm certain I heard growling! The seagulls overhead lamented at the spectacle.
Allow me to mention the Medicinal Dope Pushers.
Marc Emery didn't see this coming I'm sure! I lost track of just how many booths were set up with Medicinal Carnies calling their product. So many promises, so many jokes, so much smoke...
Who creates the names of this stuff? I can't even recall any but boy was I giggling. (contact high?)
Marc my words (sic) Walmart is gonna offer weed right after Starbucks and LuLuLemon.
So WHO was there? Best estimation has been at 15,000 humans.
I'm not a total washout at guessing ages...good grief, I've woked in the humanities for over 20 years...
I'm going to estimate that 90% of the people I saw between 4;15 and 5;35pm were under 30.
I'd go "all in" betting that 75% of those people were under 20 and 80% of THOSE people have She-Shes. I was surprised.
I was expecting Bikers, Deadheads, Hippies, and Surfbums. Nope, totally blindsided.
I'm 51 years young, I don't do drugs (mmmmm beeeeer) and I now have an accurate portrayal to support my fear of the deteriorating health of Canada. If these people are next in line to Govern, either it's gonna be a slow summer Alabama slumber or a dazed, lackadaisiacle takeover by a clever clan of cronies that don't smoke weed.
In any event, I'm sure I'll be too old to give a shit!
Peace
CAVEAT
Feel free to disagree, challenge, comment, send accolades or death threats...I'm in no way 100% correct on anything I ever write! But in THIS case....I'm right!
So I went to Vancouver's 420 "celebration" in order to garner an informed opinion. I don't do weed (drugs) but I'm not opposed to "organics".
Here's the caveat, ANY illicit chemical concoction is absolutely out and I believe, for the record, that the people who abide in chemical drug experimentation are being absolutely reckless, ignorant and stupid. (To my friends that do chemicals, I love you...QUIT IT!)
Where was I?
Right...420. What a pathetic display! I'll get back to that in a shake (pun intended)
So I'm still on that anti-bummer drug citalopram and it seems to be helping. I liken it to a foggy car windshield. You can certainly drive the car with a muggy window but you're basing your operation of the vehicle within an opaque deficit if I can use the term. Drop a few milligrams of citalopram and it's like hitting the defogger switch. Now your decisions are based on clear, accurate information. No more conclusions made in the fog. I also have the balls to clarify information when necessary (insert ovaries if applicable)
I have a friend that has been on a cocktail of anti-depressants, anti-convulsive and anti-psychotic drugs for about 9 years. I really like him...but I often wonder who he REALLY is. Does he remember? Is that pre-dose guy a bastard? A disaster? Does he recall the gorgeous, heady odour of an apple pie cooling on a window sill in August? Do they do apple pies in skid row?
A friend of mine is on 350mg of happy drugs. I really enjoy her company! I love who she is today...
She tells me that she needs that amount. Who am I to say? What do I know. 10mg keeps this Tyro out of the Dark Places.
Like I said, I really like her...would I hang with her if she WASN'T on that dose? I think yes...but that remains to be seen. If anyone has earned Happy Drugs, its her by a long shot!
I stopped over at Steve's place. You remember Steve? Lives rough along the Fraser River, has that tent...well you should see his Shangri-La now! Buddy has a fine squat! I'd live there proudly. He found work and has even allowed a dude named Brock to "live" there for a few days until "his money starts coming in".
I'd way rather my tax money go to these guys BEFORE Harper's millionaire pals....but I digress.
Local news recently reported a fire in East Vancouver along Hastings that claimed the lives of 2 Squatters. 2 visitors to the derelict building slated for demolition to make way for the Strathcona Village condos were however rescued as they dangled from windows. They tried in vain to reach their friends, a 66 year old and her son (to be confirmed)
Every local news station is mute on this story now as backhoes clear the rubble. No flowers, no candles, no marker...no care.
Homelessness
Meanwhile in Richmond, arson claims the life of a woman and nearly kills her son. I keep hearing about THAT story!
Did I mention that the Strathcona fire was preceded by a "very loud hissing followed by a bang in the basement" ? No inquiry here...insurance claim is better than paying for demolition. (oh yes I did!)
I got a friend in the DTES who has a vice. I like him, but I hate his vice. Don't get me wrong, he's a hell of a guy standing in at 340 lbs but he can be as pissy as a picnic wasp after being swatted away from the Mennonite jello salad. The guy respects me, I call him on his bullshit and he threatens me if no one is around. He really likes my wife too.
His vice? Sex Trade Workers. He lives in a SRO hotel that is true shite and he trades a warm safe night for these women for...whatever they negotiate. I liken him to some parasitical crawler you know?
Like I said, I like him...hate the vice!
How best we govern our fondness of other humans only after we have clouded our opinions of them with our own moral code, community standard and prejudices?
To my knowledge, this guy has beaten at least 3 men because they continued to "bum" smokes off of an incredibly obese woman with mental health issues as she sat outside the local Mission. He too has a code that he lives by! He's like a Watcher of the Wretched. I tip my hat to him...but deep down I'd enjoy adjusting his attitude! God help me!
There was a room fire at recovery house for women mid last week. I stopped in as I do several times a week only to read a note on the door in big letters:
SORRY. YOU CAN NOT SLEEP HERE TONIGHT. YOU WILL HAVE TO GO TO TRIAGE, THEY HAVE ROOM. WE ARE WORKING AS FAST AS WE CAN TO CLEAN THIS UP
Ever seen Triage? What a jewell of a resource!
http://www.raincityhousing.org/what-we-do/emergency-housing/
But imagine if you will, coming home to that note. What a kick to the fragile mental well-being! Triage is amazing...but it isn't anyones home I don't think.
So...420
I've heard about this in the Grouphome, from guys on the street, the media blah blah blah but I'm a cynic. I had to see for myself. WHO is dying to get weed legal? WHO is using weed openly? WHO is hoping for change?
So I rode to the Art Gallery from work and spent 45 minutes trying to find parking. Our Mayor has really allowed City Hall to convert Vancouver into a NO CAR city. What a tool! Hard to park my motorbike? Really? ( I pay the same meter price as a car...only the City has given us designated spots. Not at a third the whack...full grab)
My heart sank as I walked thru a crush of under 20's smoking joints IN THE FACE of cops. They knew they'd not be bothered, so they acted quite appropriately like KIDS. I pressed on towards the band playing Bob Marley tunes (colour me shocked)
I passed a booth where 3 heavily tattooed clowns wearing American basketball attire amped up the sleepy crowd as they tried to keep their 1/2 pound joint lit. Is this the equivalent to chugging cokes? All I could think about was their resumes. They claim the weed has NO EFFECT on their abilities etc. So why smoke it? I'm so square! I've smoked weed once in over 2 decades. I'm talking out of my bum.
Tell ya what, tell me that you enjoy getting baked like a fresh caught trout in a cast iron skillet along the river and I'll give you my blessings...excuses? Isms? Piss off!
So on I squish.
I came upon the food trucks. What a display! I saw guys and pretty young women...girls really, attacking tacos, grilled cheese sandies, burritos and hotdogs like hyenas on a warm carcass blotting in the Serengeti Plain sun. There wasn't a crumb left on the pavement and I'm certain I heard growling! The seagulls overhead lamented at the spectacle.
Allow me to mention the Medicinal Dope Pushers.
Marc Emery didn't see this coming I'm sure! I lost track of just how many booths were set up with Medicinal Carnies calling their product. So many promises, so many jokes, so much smoke...
Who creates the names of this stuff? I can't even recall any but boy was I giggling. (contact high?)
Marc my words (sic) Walmart is gonna offer weed right after Starbucks and LuLuLemon.
So WHO was there? Best estimation has been at 15,000 humans.
I'm not a total washout at guessing ages...good grief, I've woked in the humanities for over 20 years...
I'm going to estimate that 90% of the people I saw between 4;15 and 5;35pm were under 30.
I'd go "all in" betting that 75% of those people were under 20 and 80% of THOSE people have She-Shes. I was surprised.
I was expecting Bikers, Deadheads, Hippies, and Surfbums. Nope, totally blindsided.
I'm 51 years young, I don't do drugs (mmmmm beeeeer) and I now have an accurate portrayal to support my fear of the deteriorating health of Canada. If these people are next in line to Govern, either it's gonna be a slow summer Alabama slumber or a dazed, lackadaisiacle takeover by a clever clan of cronies that don't smoke weed.
In any event, I'm sure I'll be too old to give a shit!
Peace
CAVEAT
Feel free to disagree, challenge, comment, send accolades or death threats...I'm in no way 100% correct on anything I ever write! But in THIS case....I'm right!
Monday, March 16, 2015
Live for Self
Adherents to LaVeyan Satanism changed the Golden Rule into "Do unto others as they do unto you" so that (they) are only to give compassion and sympathy to those who (in the individual's estimation) deserve it. They do not believe in Satan or God, in fact, to the Satanist, he is his own God.
Hollywood has done a real disservice to the Satanist by always falsely portraying him as a sex crazed murdering psychopath. Some Evangelical teachings have quite a different opinion altogether. The Satanist is seen as the #1 enemy of the church. In fact, I'm willing to bet that even a good majority of Satanists don't quite understand Satanism or adhere to it "rules" properly.
You know, in my humble opinion, most North American churchgoers, particularly in the USA appear to be closer to the actual definition of a Satanist rather than living out Christ's demonstration of unconditional Love for your neighbour. Dying to self (as opposed to living for self) is all but unseen in Christian circles. At least the real Satanist admits it!
And now, with THAT can of wormy Pandoric box opened, let me continue...
Surrey (given City status in 1993) has been in the News too often lately. You know, that kind of News that makes "good copy". Negative News, Horrific News, Frightening News, unsettling News etc. Surrey will never, so it would seem, let us down with sensational News.
Whats your flavour? Gang drive-by shootings, gang murders, drugs, arson, murder, sexual assaults, B&E's, child abduction, grow-ops, illegal suites, corruption, 4 hour wait times at Surrey Memorial Hospital, random violence on transit, car chases, races and crashes? In fact, CTV News named Surrey the car theft capital of North America in 2002. It's all there amongst half a million Surreyites packed neatly into 122 square miles of area that was not too long ago, mostly farm land.
To be fair, not all of Surrey is bad (so I'm told) in fact, some of Her ethnic gang mentality seems to have crossed the river into my area of East Vancouver. Groups of South Asians (proven by news/police charges not based on prejudice) are beginning to fight and race around South Vancouver hurting each other and Asian gang members from Richmond. (again...verified).
Back to that tenant of Satanism: "Do unto others as they do unto you." AS YOU SO DECIDE WHO IS WORTHY (author's addition) This is left wide open to interpretation isn't it? Give compassion to those you decide are worthy of it. Give mercy only to the Ones deserving it based upon your own prejudice of skin colour, type of motorbike they ride, wealth, religion, former home on the planet, job status whether or not they stand up to piss....
Seems silly and arbitrary when you ponder it doesn't it? Alas, thats what a true Satanist does...so my research suggests.
Now, back to the nice people in the church. Whenever there is a need, a true "hey, can you come out and lend a hand" kind of need, you can always count on the same 8% to muck in. Believe me, I've seen it first hand in 4 different churches in 4 different areas where I was heavily involved with the people of the community.
So, why is it that the church points to Satanists as a threat and Satanists point to the church as archaic and failed?
Why do we really care what others think?
What of the people that are not involved in any "faith group"? Do they muck in more or about the same as everyone else?
There was a guy pushing a shopping cart of belongings along a road at 3:30 am and he was hit from behind by a Semi truck and trailer. Yes, he was in the road...but the truck driver didn't stop! Better still is the PT Cruiser driver that passed by the carnage all across the street less than 10 minutes later. Rest easy gentle reader, CCTV footage has been able to help Police locate the truck driver. The PT driver is next.
Lots of Love displayed there huh?
What about me? I must admit, if you're having difficulty in any kind of situation, I won't hesitate to help you. Rain or shine, day or night, Surrey or Disneyland...unless you're in a luxury car dressed to the hilt!
So yeah...I identify with this problem, too.
My ignorant rationalization is that if you've got that much money, you can pay someone to help you out which in turn helps them out. I'll stick to assisting the slob that barely makes ends meet (unless of course I know you and Love you, then I don't care if you're rich or poor) The snag here is that I must first generalize and assume...
What about you? Where do you fit in? Do you help everyone? No-one? Some people? GASP! Are you a Satanist or Surreyite?
This thing called life sure is tricky isn't it?
Peace
Hollywood has done a real disservice to the Satanist by always falsely portraying him as a sex crazed murdering psychopath. Some Evangelical teachings have quite a different opinion altogether. The Satanist is seen as the #1 enemy of the church. In fact, I'm willing to bet that even a good majority of Satanists don't quite understand Satanism or adhere to it "rules" properly.
You know, in my humble opinion, most North American churchgoers, particularly in the USA appear to be closer to the actual definition of a Satanist rather than living out Christ's demonstration of unconditional Love for your neighbour. Dying to self (as opposed to living for self) is all but unseen in Christian circles. At least the real Satanist admits it!
And now, with THAT can of wormy Pandoric box opened, let me continue...
Surrey (given City status in 1993) has been in the News too often lately. You know, that kind of News that makes "good copy". Negative News, Horrific News, Frightening News, unsettling News etc. Surrey will never, so it would seem, let us down with sensational News.
Whats your flavour? Gang drive-by shootings, gang murders, drugs, arson, murder, sexual assaults, B&E's, child abduction, grow-ops, illegal suites, corruption, 4 hour wait times at Surrey Memorial Hospital, random violence on transit, car chases, races and crashes? In fact, CTV News named Surrey the car theft capital of North America in 2002. It's all there amongst half a million Surreyites packed neatly into 122 square miles of area that was not too long ago, mostly farm land.
To be fair, not all of Surrey is bad (so I'm told) in fact, some of Her ethnic gang mentality seems to have crossed the river into my area of East Vancouver. Groups of South Asians (proven by news/police charges not based on prejudice) are beginning to fight and race around South Vancouver hurting each other and Asian gang members from Richmond. (again...verified).
Back to that tenant of Satanism: "Do unto others as they do unto you." AS YOU SO DECIDE WHO IS WORTHY (author's addition) This is left wide open to interpretation isn't it? Give compassion to those you decide are worthy of it. Give mercy only to the Ones deserving it based upon your own prejudice of skin colour, type of motorbike they ride, wealth, religion, former home on the planet, job status whether or not they stand up to piss....
Seems silly and arbitrary when you ponder it doesn't it? Alas, thats what a true Satanist does...so my research suggests.
Now, back to the nice people in the church. Whenever there is a need, a true "hey, can you come out and lend a hand" kind of need, you can always count on the same 8% to muck in. Believe me, I've seen it first hand in 4 different churches in 4 different areas where I was heavily involved with the people of the community.
So, why is it that the church points to Satanists as a threat and Satanists point to the church as archaic and failed?
Why do we really care what others think?
What of the people that are not involved in any "faith group"? Do they muck in more or about the same as everyone else?
There was a guy pushing a shopping cart of belongings along a road at 3:30 am and he was hit from behind by a Semi truck and trailer. Yes, he was in the road...but the truck driver didn't stop! Better still is the PT Cruiser driver that passed by the carnage all across the street less than 10 minutes later. Rest easy gentle reader, CCTV footage has been able to help Police locate the truck driver. The PT driver is next.
Lots of Love displayed there huh?
What about me? I must admit, if you're having difficulty in any kind of situation, I won't hesitate to help you. Rain or shine, day or night, Surrey or Disneyland...unless you're in a luxury car dressed to the hilt!
So yeah...I identify with this problem, too.
My ignorant rationalization is that if you've got that much money, you can pay someone to help you out which in turn helps them out. I'll stick to assisting the slob that barely makes ends meet (unless of course I know you and Love you, then I don't care if you're rich or poor) The snag here is that I must first generalize and assume...
What about you? Where do you fit in? Do you help everyone? No-one? Some people? GASP! Are you a Satanist or Surreyite?
This thing called life sure is tricky isn't it?
Peace
Sunday, March 8, 2015
left out but important none the less
Theres a guy I know that i've nicknamed The Undertaker which is very fitting if you see him and the bonus is that he really likes the handle. We're friends and he asks if he can come with me on the truck as my swamper regularly. I don't mind the company. I buy us 7-11 coffees and the occasional "kiss me quick" lunches. I can't afford to get us lunch every day but I would if I could. He rants about fast food. A rare treat for him...a pleasure to watch him salivate over food I usually target for some slanderous Facebook posts.
You've met him in past posts.
The reason I mention him is because he's lonely. He has no friends and is left out of absolutely everything. He suffers depression to a degree that makes my own diagnosis seem like a bad passing memory by comparison. I'm on meds, he's on disability, plus a cocktail of meds, regular specialist visits, MIR's and regular scans to monitor his brain activity.
He used to have seizures, LOTS of them but brain surgery has made them dormant for the time being.
When he isn't with me, he walks around Vancouver looking at buildings and girls while being genuinely nice to all comers. Or he lays on his bed in his room for hours on end wishing that he had somewhere to be. Go pace out a 12x12 area in your home and think about living in that space for 3 years. He does that day in, day out. His space is tiny. He is 6 foot 4.
Every work day, I go to this one grocery store in a chain to pick up day old pastries that they donate to the organization I drive for. The staff are friendly in spite of dealing with many rude entitled customers day in day out that seem to have all but forgotten kindness. Difficult for this blabbermouth to hold his tongue most days.
Anyway, theres this older woman in a tiny kiosk selling BC Lottery Association tickets and misnamed Scratch and Win cards. She looks pathetically lonely! Her starving eyes scan passersby but her tractor beam doesn't engage many. I see her 5 times a week and occasionally save my weekly lottery ticket for her to check. She's very friendly, professional and is always smiling...when someone is with her. Otherwise, to me it looks as if she is on the verge of tears. Maybe I'm wrong, but I doubt it!
When was the last time that you were left out of something? Friends didn't call but went to a movie, family members got together for a meal, mates from work went to lunch, the guys hit the pub, coffee with the girls that you didn't hear about...
It sucks doesn't it? Those moments when you're on the outside, not included even though you know for a fact that you're very important and likable.
I know what that feels like. Worse still, is that I know that I have friends that know what that feels like! We al get lonely!
Theres a guy that hangs outside my local Government liquor store begging for coins. He gets pretty chatty when you let him and he greets every single person with a "hello" or a "good day" He has a tin plate on his lap for coins should you feel gracious with any change, but he NEVER asks.
I've spent time chatting with him. Sometimes it's difficult to understand him but his eyes are always beaming. He says that he gets cold and lonely.
Saying that he hangs out at the liquor store is misleading, I'm sorry.
He's confined to a mobile bed/chair and can only move his head, right arm and hand. He's usually wrapped in blankets. I'll ask him his story next time, after all, he knows that I see him.
It's a new week tomorrow, we've sprung ahead! Bright eyed and bushy tailed! Call someone, visit someone. Go outdoors and sit with a pensioner and ask them how they are. You may want to take a pad and pencil...I'm guessing they'll be a story to retell.
Peace
You've met him in past posts.
The reason I mention him is because he's lonely. He has no friends and is left out of absolutely everything. He suffers depression to a degree that makes my own diagnosis seem like a bad passing memory by comparison. I'm on meds, he's on disability, plus a cocktail of meds, regular specialist visits, MIR's and regular scans to monitor his brain activity.
He used to have seizures, LOTS of them but brain surgery has made them dormant for the time being.
When he isn't with me, he walks around Vancouver looking at buildings and girls while being genuinely nice to all comers. Or he lays on his bed in his room for hours on end wishing that he had somewhere to be. Go pace out a 12x12 area in your home and think about living in that space for 3 years. He does that day in, day out. His space is tiny. He is 6 foot 4.
Every work day, I go to this one grocery store in a chain to pick up day old pastries that they donate to the organization I drive for. The staff are friendly in spite of dealing with many rude entitled customers day in day out that seem to have all but forgotten kindness. Difficult for this blabbermouth to hold his tongue most days.
Anyway, theres this older woman in a tiny kiosk selling BC Lottery Association tickets and misnamed Scratch and Win cards. She looks pathetically lonely! Her starving eyes scan passersby but her tractor beam doesn't engage many. I see her 5 times a week and occasionally save my weekly lottery ticket for her to check. She's very friendly, professional and is always smiling...when someone is with her. Otherwise, to me it looks as if she is on the verge of tears. Maybe I'm wrong, but I doubt it!
When was the last time that you were left out of something? Friends didn't call but went to a movie, family members got together for a meal, mates from work went to lunch, the guys hit the pub, coffee with the girls that you didn't hear about...
It sucks doesn't it? Those moments when you're on the outside, not included even though you know for a fact that you're very important and likable.
I know what that feels like. Worse still, is that I know that I have friends that know what that feels like! We al get lonely!
Theres a guy that hangs outside my local Government liquor store begging for coins. He gets pretty chatty when you let him and he greets every single person with a "hello" or a "good day" He has a tin plate on his lap for coins should you feel gracious with any change, but he NEVER asks.
I've spent time chatting with him. Sometimes it's difficult to understand him but his eyes are always beaming. He says that he gets cold and lonely.
Saying that he hangs out at the liquor store is misleading, I'm sorry.
He's confined to a mobile bed/chair and can only move his head, right arm and hand. He's usually wrapped in blankets. I'll ask him his story next time, after all, he knows that I see him.
It's a new week tomorrow, we've sprung ahead! Bright eyed and bushy tailed! Call someone, visit someone. Go outdoors and sit with a pensioner and ask them how they are. You may want to take a pad and pencil...I'm guessing they'll be a story to retell.
Peace
Sunday, March 1, 2015
Peaceful Resting
So I was driving the truck the other day. I had the Undertaker as my swamper. You remember the Undertaker. He stands 6' 4", weighs about 220, and frightens children the minute they see him in the dark. He's the guy that had his skull surgically removed so they could remove 2 grams of his brain in order to alter whatever it was that gave him chronic seizures. He actually told me about the procedure. He was awake the whole time. He felt nothing, he told jokes, but he did feel pressure as they stapled his skull cap back together. Anyway, I digress. The Undertaker lives in the Laurel Apartments. This building should probably be burnt down due to rats, bedbugs, lice...you get the idea...but the Undertaker is happy.
So he's in the truck with me the other day and we dropped lunch program goods at a school in Burnaby. As we're coming down Royal Oak I mention that Oakalla Prison Farm used to be on the right, and Harry worked there. Harry BSed them on the interview and ended up in a tower with a shotgun and a sidearm as the inmates grazed cattle, herded pigs, and whatever else they did on the farm. The prison is long-gone and there's townhouses there. I wonder if the tenants hear voices at night crying, wailing. One of our last executions occurred in Oakalla, if memory serves correct. They shut this archaic building in '92.
So the Undertaker is looking at the townhouses and the lower grassy meadow that used to be farmland, and he wonders if there was any rehabilitation. As you begin to drive uphill northbound on Royal Oak, Forest Lawn Cemetery is on your left. Harry used to call that hill "The hill of the dead and the forgotten". There are so many flowers and wreaths and flags and momentos in this graveyard. I have to do mental gymnastics to look upon hundreds and hundreds of dead with beauty laid on top of them. The Undertaker wondered why anyone would want to be buried in the dirt. He figures we should all be recycled in organ donor scientific study.
As we carry on our way, we ended up in Vancouver's DTES. This is where the Undertaker lives and this is where he walks around and tries to inject happiness into other people's lives. He laments because he understands that so many people down here have 2 options. They've come out of prison and they are heading to that graveyard. He wonders why in one of the richest countries, in one of the most prosperous provinces, the current government turns their back on human beings. The Undertaker usually talks endlessly, continuously...it's all to do with his meds and his surgeries, but as we drove past the hurting, invisible desperate people he fell silent. I have never heard him say nothing.
Peace.
So he's in the truck with me the other day and we dropped lunch program goods at a school in Burnaby. As we're coming down Royal Oak I mention that Oakalla Prison Farm used to be on the right, and Harry worked there. Harry BSed them on the interview and ended up in a tower with a shotgun and a sidearm as the inmates grazed cattle, herded pigs, and whatever else they did on the farm. The prison is long-gone and there's townhouses there. I wonder if the tenants hear voices at night crying, wailing. One of our last executions occurred in Oakalla, if memory serves correct. They shut this archaic building in '92.
So the Undertaker is looking at the townhouses and the lower grassy meadow that used to be farmland, and he wonders if there was any rehabilitation. As you begin to drive uphill northbound on Royal Oak, Forest Lawn Cemetery is on your left. Harry used to call that hill "The hill of the dead and the forgotten". There are so many flowers and wreaths and flags and momentos in this graveyard. I have to do mental gymnastics to look upon hundreds and hundreds of dead with beauty laid on top of them. The Undertaker wondered why anyone would want to be buried in the dirt. He figures we should all be recycled in organ donor scientific study.
As we carry on our way, we ended up in Vancouver's DTES. This is where the Undertaker lives and this is where he walks around and tries to inject happiness into other people's lives. He laments because he understands that so many people down here have 2 options. They've come out of prison and they are heading to that graveyard. He wonders why in one of the richest countries, in one of the most prosperous provinces, the current government turns their back on human beings. The Undertaker usually talks endlessly, continuously...it's all to do with his meds and his surgeries, but as we drove past the hurting, invisible desperate people he fell silent. I have never heard him say nothing.
Peace.
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