Monday, December 13, 2010

No Shelter

Karrie Letter Sent
I went to the post office and sent a letter to someone in Dalton, Georgia, who I believe might be a relative of Karrie's. I found the name in the Dalton phone book, and Marilyn spells her name just like Karrie's middle name of Joshulyn.
I explained who I was and asked her to send any information that she may have as to the whereabouts and the fortunes of Karrie. I felt really bad about leaving Karrie in Jacksonville because she drank all of her bus ticket money. I realise that she was powerless to do otherwise, and I heard that she sat at the bus stop and cried for hours after I left.
This morning, I found a broken piece of silver jewelery on the sidewalk. It was very similar to the one that Karrie tied onto the zipper of my guitar case, when we were together. That one fell off and became lost, right about the time that I had forsaken any hope of ever seeing her again.
The one that I found on the sidewalk is a sign that the letter to Karrie has arrived and been read by someone. I don't know how to interpret the fact that the piece of jewelery that I found was broken, though.
Friday night, I made a bit of money, despite the low temperatures, and the fact that Terry showed up and hung out at my spot, even though I have told him that my business of playing music is hurt by someone hanging out.
People think all kinds of thoughts, few of them conducive to my prosperity. They might think that the person is waiting for them to pull out their wallet, in order to throw me a couple dollars, so that they can snatch the whole thing and run off with it; whereupon I (who is in cahoots) would say "I've never seen him before..." That is just one of the things that people might think when someone is hanging around a street musician. We are supposed to work alone and live alone with our musings. Otherwise, we would be in a band.
Saturday
Saturday ended with me being too drunk to play past 1 am. I had made some money, but I don't remember where, or what songs I played.
I think that was the night Thomas came by with some "legal pot," which is some kind of incense that they sell, which comes with a warning label stating something like: "Don't smoke it, just burn it like incense, because if you smoke it you will get high as if it were marijuana, and that is not the intended usage of this product, so remember, don't smoke it, just use it like incense, even though, to be honest with you, it doesn't really smell that good when used as such...." -thank you, the people at White Widow Incense Company.
I remember going to the railroad track spot and grabbing my cup, my oatmeal, honey, cinnamon and raisins, and then walking to the church spot with all of it, along with my sleeping bag. I made oatmeal and chowed down, and then went to sleep. I love cold oatmeal with raisins and honey and cinnamon. Sometimes I think that it is me and cold oatmeal with raisins and honey and cinnamon, against the world. It sure feels that way often.
Sunday 
I was up Sunday at 7:30 or so, and walked into town.
I decided to call Jeff to see about going to church with him and his family.
He came by and got me, and I spent a day close to church related activities, and away from liquor and cigarettes and loose women. By the time he dropped me off, near the railroad track spot, it was pretty late and the temperatures were probably around freezing.
I thought that it was about time I had the chance to put my full rig to the test. I had on double thermal underwear, 5 layers of sweatshirts under my heavy jacket, and was prepared to put on another pair of jeans, if it became necessary. It didn't, as the temperature only got down to a lame 24 degrees. I wound up stripping down to my underwear and laying on top of the sleeping bag, fanning myself with a newspaper until I drifted off to sleep.
20 Degrees Tonight
Tonight, it is supposed to get down to the above temperature. People are telling me that I had better check in to one of the shelters for the homeless.
I Decide Not To Check Into A Shelter
I ate dinner at one of the shelters for the homeless. I arrived there just as another fellow was arriving. I walked through the front door and then paused to hold it open for him. He came through the door, and then cut in front of me to get to the check-in point for free food. "Go ahead, you were here first," I said to he, who did not seem to catch the sarcasm.
I find that on especially cold nights like tonight, there is a feeling in the shelters that the denizens are trapped there; like they have no choice but to be there, or to perish in the frozen outdoors. It is then that the malicious spirits invade and do everything they can to torture their captives. You are "stuck" with them, just as if you were in prison, and had no recourse and no choice of who you were going to be sleeping next to.
Those who can overcome the weather, having made provision for themselves, and who aren't at the mercy of the shelters, have at least the blessing of not being subject to that negativity.
Eating dinner at the shelter helped to drive that point home to me. There were two guys behind me who, before the church service, talked about the checks that they were to receive from the government (I suppose that they are disabled, in some way.)
Then, one of them tried to see if the other knew a certain person, by detailing everything that he knew about the person; where he stayed, where he used to stay, where he hung out, who he used to hang out with, what he wears, what kind of car he used to drive, etc..until, after 20 minutes, a light bulb came on above the second person and he realised that he did indeed know the person which the first person was referring to. By that time, the first person had forgotten his point in asking the second if he knew so-and-so.
I envisioned a night spent, trying to sleep through such distractions. "Hey, do you know "spider?" He used to stay off Spring Hill, used to pick up cans all the time in a shopping cart. He stayed with Rowanda -big Rowanda that used to work at Famly Dollar, she got like dreadlocks; she the one that got fired 'cause she was smokin' rock in the bathroom and lockin' the doors and not lettin' people in- he got a like little mustache and a scar on his chin; always wears like a Cincinnati Reds hat....you know who I'm talkin' about....Spider!!"
Second guy: "Yeah, I know who you're talkin' about, he used to hang out at Cooper's Park, right? He fish a lot, always got a pint of vodka" etc. etc. etc.
So, I guess I've decided to go it on my own and not to check in to a shelter.
The evil spirits lie in wait for the weather to drive fresh new souls to them.

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