Friday, May 9, 2014

Not Much More Thursday

  • I Drink After 30 Days Without
  • A 5 And Some Ones
More Art
Well, when I next walk past the artist who displays his work near Jackson Square (Jim), and who hasn't drank alcohol in 8 years himself, and whom I just happened to have encountered about 3 days into my fast, which started on April 7th, and who has been congratulating me on my sobriety on each occasion upon which I have hence encountered him (17 days?!? Fantastic!!! The Holy Spirit wants to lead you to do great things, you just won't hear its voice when you're drunk...) I will have to tell him that I just went and got a hard cider at Sydneys tonight; out of the blue -though I think eating a whole loaf of 9 grain bread the other night may have triggered a desire for fermented grains. But I resisted the grains and went with an apple product; as that fruit was the provider of the juice which I lived on for 3 days, before switching to water...
And then I got a bottle of red wine after I finished playing and after I grabbed a couple of salads along with a sleeve of spaghetti which had a tear in it and some was falling out, and a couple tins of sushi -there was a bunch of it; one of my past binge foods, at that- and then was on my way to Brothers Market, for some vinegar; the only thing that I am missing in the salad equation.
Off To Build A Fire
After I drank my first beer in a month -it made me light headed at first, and I didn't get any real buzz, and I certainly didn't think it was going to impel me to reach musical heights not realized in the past 30 days; when I played well enough to make enough money to buy this brand new laptop- I sat down to play, and a street type person (one of my contemporaries in the Rouses Market "waste not, want not" program) came up and handed me a plastic bag containing a raw steak.
"Here you go..." Nobody else wants the stuff which needs to be cooked; even if it is what turned out to be a lamb steak, I just found upon inspecting it. They would rather grab stuff which is ready to eat; and especially stuff which is already cooked.
It is kind of touching that the other scavengers know my preferences, and would even grab the raw lamb for me and come by my spot and hand it to me; asking nothing in return.
The other night, another guy asked me if I had gotten the sushi which he had laid out on the slate behind the trash bins. Indeed I had.
Maybe they like me because I am not taking any food out of their mouths by grabbing bagged salads, sushi, fruits and vegetables, and not hot baked chicken and moufllata sandwiches...maybe it is a political thing; the staff at Rouses Market seem to like me and all call me by name; and let's all be as pretentious as myself in thinking that the only reason they don't pour bleach on the food is because they are wanting to feed the likes of Daniel, because they are so interesting and so skinny
I had strayed far enough from the coarse of self discipline which I had established through fasting, by drinking my first alcohol, and, what do you know, a slab of red meat lands in my lap...mere coincidence??
Free Wireless Under Heavy Surveillance 
I am outside the casino, using their hot spot internet connection.
I will soon go and try to get under the dock unseen, where I will try to get a fire going in order to have grilled lamb and pasta, to go with the salads and vinegar and olive oil.
In the morning, I hope my fully charged phone will ring and a nice lady will ask me a few questions about my current living arrangements...Are you still homeless?
"Hey, get out of that sushi, you rats!!
I'm sorry, ma'am, what was the question?


3 comments:

  1. That's one area where you're ahead of your fellow skeezers, you've discovered how to use fire and cook food.

    You should post some pictures of where you sleep, not so people can find out where, take 'em only inside, under the dock, so you can show people how you sleep with rats, on rocks, etc and thus deserve their pity.

    ReplyDelete
  2. You mean show them how I have managed to discover the secret of rocks no larger than a potato, in the making of a level bed.
    The fit together more tightly and a pretty flat surface can comprise them (think of gravel and how it can be graded) with any pits or grooves being overstuffed with wads of newspaper, giving the overlaid cardboard (extra thick kind) a spring, as it rests upon the shock absorbing newspaper rolls
    springs*
    *The newspaper is rolled and then stuffed lengthwise into the nook or cranny [tightly rolled newspaper is very strong] so as to protrude a small amount; adding a bit of shock absorption.
    Note: The real hardcore homeless guy would use a bubble level for this part of the operation.
    This make the overall feel like a gymnastics mat; which is exactly what it is for a few minutes each morning as I knock out my sit ups and push ups.
    I can do a whole Bob Villa type thing, and not be after pity at all!
    I still have to smile when people perchance make the comment that I seem "too intelligent" to be homeless;
    In my mind's eye is a split screen video where, on the left is me cussing out the (dumb) rats as I fling an empty oatmeal canister with a hole chewed through it, at them, because I hadn't secured it properly...
    And on the other screen is almost anybody else in their world; and the challenge is: Find the guy too intelligent to be homeless LOL!
    It's a Catch 22
    Maybe being "too" intelligent to be homeless is what keeps a guy in that situation.
    You might be off the streets, were you less intelligent; but intelligence has become a liability to you.
    And, the evidence that the guy on the left screen is smart enough to figure out not only how not to be homeless, but he could probably manage to have a bitchin' pad with a balcony;
    The evidence, besides the individuals fluency in describing the circumstance using big words; would lie in the details such as hmmm...let's see...how about the way I move my goods (condiments, oils, spices and marinades) around on the girders (which function as shelves) according to the level of the river and the resultant angle from which the Natchez crews line of sight would emanate from...that's pretty intelligent.
    Back to condiments; it is apparent that I am eating gourmet under there...
    Can you say "portabello mushrooms sauteed in a blend of real butter and an olive oil based infusion of the drippings of steamed broccoli and cauliflower the frying of garlic and then the steeping of fresh basil and oregano in the cooling oil; with the resultant mushrooms being poured over whole wheat pasta"
    So, I rest my argument there

    ReplyDelete
  3. In the economy we're in, which is more class-bound than Edwardian England, and becoming as both as class-bound, and having as large an underclass as Dickensian England, intelligence is indeed a drawback except for the very few who are born into the ruling class.

    I knew a guy who was a violinist, a Consertmeister. That's basically not being just a concert violinist, but being able to take over for the conductor. In essence, a very elite player. He was also, sort of, not the sharpest tool in the shed.

    I also have read the autobiography of, I think it was, Itzhak Perlman, a great violinist, and well, pretty much dumb as a block of wood. But notorious for practicing a lot!

    We are in a world where no one gives a shit how smart you are, and if you are smart, you are pretty much a target. Be able to play guitar, juggle, shine shoes, lay bricks, etc very well and keep the rest hidden.

    ReplyDelete

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