We are not the fortunate ones; we don't have the privilege of forgetting. We lay in streets, where others, if tired, resist the urge because it is not "proper." Proper things, the civility of life- it all goes out the window when you hit dog poor. If you are helpless and no one can or will or wants to help you, you lay down wherever the hell you damn well please to. It's the one comfort you have.
"How opposites appear
side by side!
Here the solemn - and
right beside it, the
comical.
To me they seemed
absolutely to belong
together"
-Otto Dix
I had always seen them. I guess not always. Maybe when I was younger and living in a small mid-western town, I guess I don't remember seeing them then. It probably wasn't until I moved to the city. Then, I definitely saw them. I saw them a lot. I don't remember the first one I saw, but I remember the first one I saw that was definitely dead.
I didn't do anything about it. Which made me feel bad. I just kept walking. But what could I do? He was already dead.
Then again, I didn't do anything for those who weren't dead either. What can you do? You can't help them all. Maybe I could have helped one or two. Maybe I could have done that, spared a dollar, you know? But what good is a dollar, really? What difference does it make? They'll always need another and you can't keep giving. I don't have that much myself. I mean, I have enough. I have enough for me, that is.
So, I don't do anything. I don't know if I should look and nod and smile or just look straight ahead. I alternate it. I'm never mean, though. I don't look down on them or anything. I keep an open mind. I picture the best case scenario that could have landed them there. I make it so it's not their fault and I never think they're on drugs or drinkers. I blame the government and the economy and the under staffed, under funded vet programs and mental illness and the housing market and personal tragedies.
"How opposites appear
side by side!
Here the solemn - and
right beside it, the
comical.
To me they seemed
absolutely to belong
together"
-Otto Dix
They walk by me with their iPods and their Starbucks and their bubbles for their bubble baths and their cat food and their DVD's and they can't spare a dime. Can't spare it. Don't have cash. Hell, I'll take your card. Give me the plastic. The paper. Whatever ya got. They can't spare it. Meanwhile, they live in excess and they think they're struggling to get by. Buddies never seen a struggle in their lives.
Sometimes they smile. Don't give you nothing but a smile. Smile don't keep your stomach down. Don't keep you warm. But a smile's better than a scowl. Better than nothing. Let's you know you're still visible. Makes you feel almost human for a second.
The hardest part of all of it is the transition into it, out of wherever you're coming from. Accepting it. Once you stop fighting and accept it. It's all easier from there. You realize what matters. And things ain't it. They just toys to keep the fortunate mesmerized and distracted while the devil sweeps in unnoticed to steal their souls.
"How opposites appear
side by side!
Here the solemn - and
right beside it, the
comical.
To me they seemed
absolutely to belong
together"
-Otto Dix
I like clothes. I like buying clothes. I like getting dressed, putting on make-up, doing my hair. I like becoming characters and transforming myself and getting lost in it. Escape. I like movies. I like going out dancing or to dinner with a group of well dressed friends. Sometimes on our way in or out we have to side step around some street people. I hold my breath until I'm a few feet away. It can be hard to hold it for so long, but it's better than whiffing in that disgusting scent. It gets stuck in your nose and you can't get it out.
I know it's a problem. These street people. It makes me feel bad. Sometimes I think about what if circumstances ever turn out so that I end up on the street? How would that be? I don't think it will happen though. I have family and friends and I'm a pretty resourceful worker.
I wish everyone had a place to live and food to eat, but at the same time, you gotta wonder... how many of them choose to be where they are? Couldn't they help themselves if they really wanted to? I guess most of them can't though, for mental or physical reasons, or maybe they just don't have anybody to give them a hand. I guess I could give them a hand. Somehow. Maybe. I don't know. I mean, it's not really my place, is it? I mean, who am I? I'm nobody!
I'd really just like to stop thinking about it now. I think I'll go watch some TV.
"How opposites appear
side by side!
Here the solemn - and
right beside it, the
comical.
To me they seemed
absolutely to belong
together"
-Otto Dix
Everyday we wake up to reality slapping our faces. Sometimes that reality is the police or a rat or a stranger's boot or another vagrant snooping for goods or your own pain from a hard nights rest. There is no escape for us. Just reality, day in and day out. The plain, cold, hard facts. The truth. The ugliness. The rare, unexpected beauty. The brutality of human nature and mother earth. We're forced to face ourselves every bit as much as well, which is perhaps the harshest reality of all. There is no escape from our thoughts. We're at the mercy of others. We're living in Sartre's hell.
These people passing by- the epochs of each generation, different and yet the same- and we've become the life stamps, pounding our faces into the journals of the pavement for them to walk and shred upon like objects- artifacts in a Neue Sachlichkeit movement.
"How opposites appear
side by side!
Here the solemn - and
right beside it, the
comical.
To me they seemed
absolutely to belong
together"
-Otto Dix
I had always seen them. I guess not always. Maybe when I was younger and living in a small mid-western town, I guess I don't remember seeing them then. It probably wasn't until I moved to the city. Then, I definitely saw them. I saw them a lot. I don't remember the first one I saw, but I remember the first one I saw that was definitely dead.
I didn't do anything about it. Which made me feel bad. I just kept walking. But what could I do? He was already dead.
Then again, I didn't do anything for those who weren't dead either. What can you do? You can't help them all. Maybe I could have helped one or two. Maybe I could have done that, spared a dollar, you know? But what good is a dollar, really? What difference does it make? They'll always need another and you can't keep giving. I don't have that much myself. I mean, I have enough. I have enough for me, that is.
So, I don't do anything. I don't know if I should look and nod and smile or just look straight ahead. I alternate it. I'm never mean, though. I don't look down on them or anything. I keep an open mind. I picture the best case scenario that could have landed them there. I make it so it's not their fault and I never think they're on drugs or drinkers. I blame the government and the economy and the under staffed, under funded vet programs and mental illness and the housing market and personal tragedies.
"How opposites appear
side by side!
Here the solemn - and
right beside it, the
comical.
To me they seemed
absolutely to belong
together"
-Otto Dix
They walk by me with their iPods and their Starbucks and their bubbles for their bubble baths and their cat food and their DVD's and they can't spare a dime. Can't spare it. Don't have cash. Hell, I'll take your card. Give me the plastic. The paper. Whatever ya got. They can't spare it. Meanwhile, they live in excess and they think they're struggling to get by. Buddies never seen a struggle in their lives.
Sometimes they smile. Don't give you nothing but a smile. Smile don't keep your stomach down. Don't keep you warm. But a smile's better than a scowl. Better than nothing. Let's you know you're still visible. Makes you feel almost human for a second.
The hardest part of all of it is the transition into it, out of wherever you're coming from. Accepting it. Once you stop fighting and accept it. It's all easier from there. You realize what matters. And things ain't it. They just toys to keep the fortunate mesmerized and distracted while the devil sweeps in unnoticed to steal their souls.
"How opposites appear
side by side!
Here the solemn - and
right beside it, the
comical.
To me they seemed
absolutely to belong
together"
-Otto Dix
I like clothes. I like buying clothes. I like getting dressed, putting on make-up, doing my hair. I like becoming characters and transforming myself and getting lost in it. Escape. I like movies. I like going out dancing or to dinner with a group of well dressed friends. Sometimes on our way in or out we have to side step around some street people. I hold my breath until I'm a few feet away. It can be hard to hold it for so long, but it's better than whiffing in that disgusting scent. It gets stuck in your nose and you can't get it out.
I know it's a problem. These street people. It makes me feel bad. Sometimes I think about what if circumstances ever turn out so that I end up on the street? How would that be? I don't think it will happen though. I have family and friends and I'm a pretty resourceful worker.
I wish everyone had a place to live and food to eat, but at the same time, you gotta wonder... how many of them choose to be where they are? Couldn't they help themselves if they really wanted to? I guess most of them can't though, for mental or physical reasons, or maybe they just don't have anybody to give them a hand. I guess I could give them a hand. Somehow. Maybe. I don't know. I mean, it's not really my place, is it? I mean, who am I? I'm nobody!
I'd really just like to stop thinking about it now. I think I'll go watch some TV.
"How opposites appear
side by side!
Here the solemn - and
right beside it, the
comical.
To me they seemed
absolutely to belong
together"
-Otto Dix
Everyday we wake up to reality slapping our faces. Sometimes that reality is the police or a rat or a stranger's boot or another vagrant snooping for goods or your own pain from a hard nights rest. There is no escape for us. Just reality, day in and day out. The plain, cold, hard facts. The truth. The ugliness. The rare, unexpected beauty. The brutality of human nature and mother earth. We're forced to face ourselves every bit as much as well, which is perhaps the harshest reality of all. There is no escape from our thoughts. We're at the mercy of others. We're living in Sartre's hell.
These people passing by- the epochs of each generation, different and yet the same- and we've become the life stamps, pounding our faces into the journals of the pavement for them to walk and shred upon like objects- artifacts in a Neue Sachlichkeit movement.
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