Why is the Water Turning Red?

In my last post I ended with the analogy of slipping into a warm bath and how nice it will feel. Now, I’m afraid I must confess that the temptation to slit my wrists while in said warm bath is very tempting.  What saves me from doing so is the fact that it would be very embarrassing if I failed in my attempt (tho truthfully, who would notice?) and I wouldn’t want to cause my landlady, who is a very delicate flower, any more grief than necessary.

What? A considerate suicide? WTF?

So, since my last post, the job market for me has steadily declined to the point where I’m actually trying to make a living selling poetry books…You know times must be hard if that’s the case.  This ain’t no San Francisco Heyday, no small press renaissance, not yet anyway. Maybe after the revolution moves thru town the people will develop a hunger for what Lummox Press has to offer. But for now, I’m taking on whatever I can find and believe me, there ain’t much out there…at least not for me. Perhaps I have offended the powers that be, the gods of menial labor, I just don’t know. Is my English too good? Am I too old? Does my breath stink? I don’t get it.

I’ve never had a problem finding work before. It scares me. I’ve actually started looking at other cities to move to, because this one is getting too expensive to live in. Or maybe I should buy a van (with what money, that’s the problem) and go mobile…I’ve done it before, of course I was younger and more resilient back then. But it’s easier to do now, what with WIFI and cel phones…all you really need is a place to store your shit and a place to flop, which could be the same place if you play your cards right. You can eat hot meals pretty cheaply. You just need a secluded place to sleep, one where the cops won’t be rousting you.  You can take a sink shower if you have to, where you get your coffee. It’s not like I’m gonna lose any friends over this…I don’t have many friends to begin with.

Still, not having a place to call “home” does kinda suck. I do remember that about the four years I lived in a house truck. It was a bit like living on a boat, but less sloshy. If I had my way now, I’d have a camper truck or a camper van and I’d just travel around, going wherever I felt like going.  There’s only a couple of things stopping me from doing that: 1) I don’t have any money;  2) I don’t have money for gas (and I’d need a lot of gas); 3) I don’t have the money to buy the aforementioned camper van and 4) where will I store all my shit?

Aside from that, I’m good to go.

A number of friends have suggested I move in with my mom or my brother, but that is highly unlikely since neither of them gives a good God-damn about me or my troubles (having plenty of troubles of their own). As I recall my life of some twenty-five years ago, when I first had to move out onto the streets of South Redondo (not a cop show) into a homemade camper truck, most of my family thought it was something I wanted to do…some kind of wacky adventure, like I should be floating down the L.A. river with some black guy named Jim…

I have a friend who has been living out of her car, her CAR, for the last two or three years; trying to find a job and get back on her feet again so she can get an apartment and start life anew. While she has been living in this struggle, she has finished writing a novel, kicked a meth habit, and met an array of creepy users hell-bent on taking advantage of her. Her story is a reminder of what I would call the minus side of the tally. You can add to that being harassed by the cops at every turn and being an easy mark for thieves.

But there are pluses like not spending as much money (tho that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll be saving that money) on rent and utilities (Christ! It costs too much just to have the basics!). And it’s not like I can become any more of a pariah than I already am. I’ve become a solid weirdo and that’s not gonna change anytime soon. So why am I paying so much for a “storage” unit?

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

Did I mention that it’s always raining when I close my eyes?  Something for the next entry. Think about that…


5 Responses to “Why is the Water Turning Red?”

  1. all my love my friend.

  2. I’m pulling for you, too. Scary times! I can’t subscribe without joining the networked blogs on facebook which I’ve avoided so I’m puttling you on my feed at blogger.com. Those go down the right side of a blog at the bottom and show when a blog has an update.

  3. Father Luke Says:

    If you sleep alone, don’t sleep at night – – too dangerous; sleep during the day and keep your eyes awake at night. If you decide to take it to the streets, I mean.

    “So, then how will we live? Where will we live? Family homes are being
    brushed away like so many crumbs off the lapel of a fat man’s dark
    business suit. Ah, but the streets are open, aren’t they? The streets are
    always open. The streets are open twenty four hours a day. If you don’t
    believe there is vacancy on the streets of America, take a stroll through
    downtown Los Angeles. Hell, it doesn’t even need to be Los Angeles. It
    doesn’t need to be downtown! Former New York City Mayor John
    Lindsay called the crimes of the homeless and poverty stricken in this
    country a slow motion riot. Well, disaster is headed for your front door,
    Amos. Like dead zombies walking with their arms out in front of them,
    wanting to eat your brains. Slowly they creep, step, by step . . . inch by
    inch. . .

    So where do the homeless live? Well, that’s just it. They’re homeless.
    They don’t have anywhere to live. Maybe they’ll shit on your front lawn
    while you are bathing your children, or look in the restaurant window as
    you leisurely eat, and pick their nose. Maybe they’ll steal your new car,
    and kidnap your children. Not likely, however. Besides not having any
    money for fuel, the poor truth is that you may very well have bought
    your car from these homeless people. Maybe you also bought your
    home from them.”

    I wrote those words nearly a year ago. . . Now I am living in Portland,
    and it hasn’t gotten much better.

    And good luck.

    – –
    Yer man in the Pacific Northwest,
    Father Luke

  4. Hey Raindog – Lots of us are pulling for you. We need you to be who you are and what you are and remember, I’m still waiting for you to come over for dinner ….

  5. As long as you can still write that is suppose to solve everything…says the Buk. You are still writing well. Don’t chase after death, it will be there to get you soon enough..anyway.

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