68 Degrees On February 21st

And, so I'm going out to busk until the sun goes down or I make my kratom money whichever comes first...

A 4 GigaNight

Back, After Almost A Month Without Internet

I started a fast about 6 hours ago. But, not before the "one last hurrah" of a package of Little Debbie™ Glazed Donut Sticks.

I guess I was sending the message to my brain of: This is the kind of thing we will be flushing out of every cell of the body, right down to the mitochondrion. 

Sort of like putting a blood hound on the trail of a missing child by letting it sniff her dirty socks before setting out to search the countryside...

I wonder if the spelling of "Donut," rather than "Doughnut" on the product has anything to do with copyright issues. Perhaps the Dunkin' people have registered the name "doughnut." (Christ, I've already Googled "the plural of mitochondria," and now I have to look up "Dunkin' Doughnuts." I guess I'm a little rusty after not having been able to blog for about the past month...).
It's almost like you might glance quickly and see "DO NOT" -as much a warning as part of the brand name of the product.

I chose them as the lesser of evils. They have soy AND palm oils in them, so I guess that means only half the amount of soy oil as they might otherwise have, with only half the toxic effect that the former produces in me. And, "less than 2%" of titanium dioxide doesn't sound like it can hurt you much.

40 days of 40 bites...

The 12 Pound Tin of Jambalaya

The fasting seems to have been ordained by circumstances, the chief one being that Lent, a prescribed period of fasting and prayer which I have never seen "religiously" observed by any of the Catholics that I've ever known, is in full swing. 

People will bicker over the significance of one word in the bible -"Man was created in our image," is one that comes to mind. This has spawned debates over how many Gods there actually are as, every iota of that book being divinely inspired, every word is important.

Not so much when it comes to the passages about Jesus fasting for 40 days and 40 nights to prepare for His imminent torture. These verses are slighted over and the following in the Lord's footsteps is amended to perhaps not eating meat every Friday during Lent, or perhaps even skipping the last meal on that day (but having a few crackers handy to quell any cravings that might emerge, should they become unbearable).

Unlike the interpretations of other words and phrases, which people have undoubtedly been burned at the stake over, the "40 days and 40 nights" has either been spun to mean "a long time," like the duration of time taken to flood the whole earth, back in Noah's time. People could only count to ten back then (20, if they were wearing sandals) and so, "40" probably was used instead of the word "innumerable," by those divinely inspired men. Like when a car doing "a hundred miles per hour" flies past you on the street. It might have been going 82 MPH, but "a hundred" gets the point across.

The Baptists that I bivouacked with for about a year or so in the late 1980's were of the same mind. They didn't smoke, drink, nor wear beards or mustaches, but they seemed to make up for lost time in the church basement, where vats of strong coffee, along with cakes and pies and puddings awaited them. I would add that, neither did they do drugs, but given the way they seemed to substitute food for all other excesses, I'm sure most of them were whacked out on "doctor prescribed medications," if not drugs. Every word is important.

I think the consensus, in these religions, is that Jesus was a master of fasting and praying and, until you can walk across a lake, you'd better stick to just skipping a meal every Friday during Lent, and not hurt yourself trying to copy Jesus, type of thing...

So, Fat Tuesday arrived, the parades started on time, and I was once again looking out my window at a spectacle that would not be seen again for another year. I started to question just what what I had in common with the hundreds of people lining the streets, celebrating. Do I even belong as a member of humanity?

I found some encouragement in the fact that so many people had turned out for the parades, though. I think it would have been downright depressing to see the floats passing along a deserted street, their occupants holding beads, trinkets and lit up objects with nobody to throw them to. I was glad that the population weren't all holed up somewhere, smoking crack, and not to be bothered by wholesome family fun.

I still felt a bit alienated, but could see alcohol containers everywhere and figured that I would at least venture out to walk around drinking for free and, who knows, might find myself whooping it up as I jumped up and down with my hands outstretched, trying to get a glowing rubber ball or a light-up Frisbee thrown to me. I always wondered just how the guys on the floats picked out their targets. Of course, families with children usually walk away laden with beads around their necks and carrying a couple bags full of more, mostly plastic items (nothing heavy enough to injure someone caught by surprise and hit in the face with it).

There was one time when I had gone out to watch the parades and, noticing that nobody was throwing anything my way, began to sulk a bit, and was probably standing with my arms folded and my head down, feeling sorry for myself and wondering if that was New Orleans' way of telling me I wasn't wanted here, when a pretty nice object -a stuffed animal or something- came flying off a float and landed right at my feet, having obviously been aimed at me (the throwers are pretty accurate, having had so much practice).

I went out to Canal Street, where it became evident that a lot of cans of "hard seltzer" had been handed out, as part of some promotion, probably off the back of a pickup truck, with the White Claw Hard Seltzer logo painted on its side. These were all over the place, still cold, and with just one sip taken off a lot of them. I finished 3 or 4 of them, as I wandered around, stopping at one point to squat down and kneel in the grass by the trunk of a large oak tree, as I finished one. I then looked and saw a small pipe sitting in a nook in one of the roots of the tree, with its little bowl stuffed with what turned out to be some good weed. Is New Orleans still telling me I'm not wanted here...?

I started heading towards the Brown Derby, after smoking the bowl, but then aborted that trip. I had been thinking of getting a dark beer, but had gotten drunk enough by the time I was half way there, off of unopened cans of beer laying in the grass in various spots, that I figured it was not necessary to spend any money. It wasn't Modelo Negro I was finding; but it was free...

I went back out after the parades had passed, and spotted a half dozen huge tin trays, covered with tin foil and full of jambalaya. I was on my way to the Winn Dixie to get some food. I had to kind of watch how much I spent, I thought, because having no phone and no Internet, I had no way to check the balance on any of my plastic cards. I had grabbed a bottle of spicy brown mustard, but then thought: what if the jambalaya isn't there any more? Mustard could probably wait, as I would probably rather have coffee and bottled water and "superfood" powder from WalMart to get me through to the end of the month, instead of mustard with nothing to put it on...

Getting back to the neighborhood, I saw that the tins of jambalaya were still there, so I was able to balance one in my arms and tote it, along with my groceries minus mustard into the Sacred Heart building. I started to regret not having spent $2.49 on the spicy brown mustard, but caught myself, and pushed the thought away. It takes discipline and practice to be able to invoke the Law of Attraction by feeling joy and gratitude for things not yet manifest -like someone who has ordered something they have always wanted and is tearing the wrappings off a package that arrives a few days later, thinking: this must be it!! already thrilled to have the thing they have always wanted, even though they haven't seen it yet, type of thing...

So, instead of even thinking about the mustard, I felt grateful for the things that I did have. 

And, there in the lobby, on a table where people leave stuff that they don't want, like the cans of green beans that come in the boxes of food that certain residents get, was a cardboard box, the size of a bread box. In it were probably about 2,500 little packets of...mustard.

It's coming upon 12 hours into the fast, and I'm hungry. My mind is trying to trick me with the idea of: Why don't you just do a carnivore diet, and fool your body into thinking that it's fasting? Then, you can probably even sell your plasma while detoxing at the same time...
The mind: always suggesting you turn stones into bread then eat them...

Response To Comment

One of the last posts I put here before having my Internet connection die, was the one about Dorise Blackmon's memorial service. An "unknown" left a comment that I paraphrase as: Dorise was never a fan of yours after she found out about your child porn arrest. You should have paid your respects by not showing up.

If it's disrespectful to speak ill of the deceased, then, what is it to put lies in their mouths?

Dorise let me stash my extra guitar at her house, when I was homeless. I was walking towards the music store, in 2013, to buy a guitar tuner when she pulled up in her car with her girlfriend in the passenger seat and asked me where I was going, then told me: "Wait here 5 minutes," after I'd said I was on my way to buy a guitar tuner, then returned 5 minutes (out of her schedule) later and handed me a brand new Snark™tuner.
I've sat and hung out while she played about 240 times. Once, she and Tanya had started playing the song "Daniel," after I showed up. Since I was in a hurry to get to my spot that night, when the song got to the part where Elton sings: "I can see Daniel waving goodbye," I waved goodbye and walked off. About 3 hours later, when I was walking past them again, they stopped the song they were in the middle of and Dorise asked me: "Do you not like that song, 'Daniel?'" 

Since they played instrumental versions of songs, they hadn't associated the "waving goodbye" line in the song with the way I'd walked off. And 3 hours later it still seemed to be bothering Dorise.
Then there were the times I showed up after they'd packed their gear in their van and Dorise would motion to me to walk with her and would buy me a veggie burger at a nearby bar.

All this after she found out about my "child porn" arrest. That happened in Mobile after I had wised off to a new Lieutenant who had taken over the downtown area and was against buskers, seeing them as little more than panhandlers. (He and a female officer walked up on me when I was busking,  with him asking me, derisively, "What are you doing?" in a tone that implied: just what the hell do you think you're doing?!

I looked at them and said: "Golden Slumbers," by The Beatles, off Abbey Road.

"No, I meant what are you...oh, a smartass!"

I was searched, and amongst the pictures on my phone were some taken at a nude beach, which depicted nudists of all ages. Perfect, for the Lieutenant. I was charged with possession of child porn, held for about 2 weeks, then had all the charges dropped after a grand jury refused to return an indictment after seeing the "evidence."

But, then I had to leave Mobile, as the new Lieutenant knew I would have to. Because people trend towards being like "unknown," and, after seeing my picture in the local paper after the arrest, then seeing me back on the street 2 weeks later, along with a follow up article in the same paper, stating that the charges had been dropped "in the interest of justice" because none of the images had turned out to be pornographic, the people had already deemed me guilty by accusation.

"There's that child molester!"

It's like these idiots who say that president Trump is a scoundrel because he's been impeached twice and indicted x number of times; when they were the ones who impeached him twice, and indicted him x number of times.

"Just because you got some fancy lawyer to get you off the hook doesn't mean you ain't a pervert!" said one yokel, to me.

Yeah, I did pretty well busking the night before, and was able to hire OJ's "dream team" of lawyers.
That's how they run homeless people out of town. Another way is to fine them pretty heavily (for their means) and give them, say, 60 days to pay up, or go to jail for 60 days. When 60 days are up, the homeless guy is then some other county's problem; long gone, and never to be seen again because they would have issued a warrant for him -60 days on the original charge; plus maybe 10 more for "failure to appear" in court. The guys in the jail were saying things like:: "I know one thing; as soon as I get out of here, I'm getting the hell out of Mobile! F**k this place; these cops are assholes!" 

Dorise had been a street musician her whole life; I think she was shaking her head over the way the cops in some places act, and not over the nude beach pictures from Wilmington Lake, Vermont, and wasn't just pretending to be my friend over the course of 10 years.

Alex Carter

He lives in California, and used to frequent this blog. That was when he was considering of "retiring" in New Orleans and probably wanted to to have some contact and potential life-lines here.
But, the last I saw, he has changed his plans, and now wants to retire in Hawaii. So, he has no need for Dan McKenna. Now he is online, kissing the asses of Hawaiian people; trying to ingratiate himself; sending gifts.

He doesn't seem to have grasped the concept of: wherever you go, there you are. This magic move to somewhere is going to be the key to his happiness, the change will do him good, he thinks.

He has changed religions a few times; tried about a half dozen diets, dabbled in everything from drawing caricatures, making and selling ribbons, gathering and selling seashells, and flat out panhandling. He does profess to hate "bums," though.

He has taken up about a dozen different musical instruments, as if there is such a one that is going to unlock his abilities. It doesn't seem like he will ever realize that he, himself, is the constant. 

It's always going to be Alex Carter playing the trumpet, or Alex Carter playing the violin, or Alex Carter playing the flute, or Alex Carter playing the ukulele. There's a pattern here.

So, he is going to move to Hawaii, where he will soon find himself annoyed at the "zombies" and bums, perpetually trying to be of service to people and garner appreciation for it, swapping one occupation for another, thinking that it is the environment that is "the problem," and, most likely starting to formulate a plan to get out of Hawaii, because he will have found the land of "The Rolling Surf," to be so much like where he moved from that it really hadn't been worth the trouble and expense of getting there. Alex in San Jose, Alex in Hawaii...

Jealousy would be my guess as to the motive behind "unknown"s comment, since I'm 99% sure it's Alex Carter. He's old and set in his ways and it's easy to recognize his voice in the comment. Even the way the verbs are placed in the sentences is an identifier. He saw the pictures in the post of me in the company of the tribe of New Orleans artists -my tribe- and he couldn't stand it. I know, I'll tell him that his deceased friend never really liked him; that will be a good use of my time! 

The timestamp on unknown's comment being within an hour of when Alex posted something to his own blog...another amateur mistake made by someone trying to pretend he is someone who knew Dorise well enough to know what her feelings (that she never expressed to me) were...

Woke liberal leftist trash (who, in all his anecdotal blogging, never once mentions ever having a girlfriend; so there's something to be read between the lines, too. I think Wendell, the flute player, might have said that the guy is a faggot)