Friday, September 20, 2019
Ripping out the Heart
With no one willing to invest in a downtown business.
Unable to secure loan sizable enough to give breathing room to get a home business going, or any loan at all at this juncture.
School Financial Aid looking like it will not come through in time, if at all.
And the only jobs hiring that has contacted me back being minimum wage employment.
I look at what I have in storage.
Look at what may still have some resale value.
And the video games collection looks back at me.
I invested in the comics and sold them for a fraction of their worth.
Curated a research library and gave it away.
Spent thousands and countless hours on cards to sell them for pennies on the dollar.
The multi thousand dollar role playing collection of tiles and miniatures was left behind because my partner didn't want to open the shop with me.
The damned shop.
I've outlined the model for it.
Talked to people that I've trusted about it.
Recruited and Kept tabs on those I think could fill the needed roles.
And at the end of the day.
Nothing.
That's the thing man.
"The Shop"
"The Guild Hall" as I want to call it.
There's nothing out there like it.
And, that's the funny part man.
"The Guild Hall"
Man, whatever, a pipe dream.
A retirement plan for a retirement that isn't happening.
I say "let's do the thing, make it the destination."
And as time slowly runs out on being able to keep a roof over my head I realize I have to let it all go.
First the tech.
Posting the gaming collection except my most current iterations for a quarter of what it's worth, much in the way the comics and cards were sold.
I posted the first ad for that this morning, to be updated as I open the boxes and take full stock of what's in there.
Then the Stereo.
A hodgepodge of speakers old and new that I cobbled together and found a quality amp for.
Hundreds of feet of speaker wire, and a few odds and ends to help spread the sound over several rooms.
It doesn't look like much, but when it's set up and EQed it rivals the movie theaters system.
However, living in an apartment or a dorm, or what ever small space I end up in won't support such a robust soundscape.
And not finding anyone to go in with me on opening a shop or work space in a location I'm comfortable with, just more things to collect dust.
After that, the tools and crafting supplies.
The Sewing machines, the leather tools, the hand tools, everything else I've learned to craft and build with.
Again, without a shop.
With out a place to spread out the projects that won't clutter my living space or get dust and debris everywhere.
What the hell is the point of keeping them, other than to store them.
From there, all of the toys, posters, pictures, maps, and paintings, treasure chests and everything else.
Most will be thrown away.
They were all meant to be displays and chotskies for the shop wall when it came together.
Hundreds of linear feet of displays, figures, and maps.
With current jobs available to someone with my background I'll be lucky to get 600sqft of living space with the income offered, let anything resembling crafting space.
Then, finally, the cosplay and photo supplies.
The Costumes, the prop weapons, all of the things that I thought I was going to need to work and train as a stunt man.
Shit, work your ass off, literally and the only thing I have to show for it is some pretty pictures that I, or friends took and never actually being paid to do the thing for a production. Just a handful of live shows and demonstrations.
Hell, again, can't open the shop, can't have a dojo without space to move in.
Can't get the space without investors or interested parties.
"Get out and Sell yourself."
Tried that ass holes.
That's why I was askin' other people to help.
When I try to sell myself my shyness takes over.
Anyways.
Not the point.
Point is I've spent my whole professional life working for other peoples shops.
Selling other peoples stuff.
Talking up other peoples skills.
And at the end of it.
All of the garbage I've collected in a vain attempt build a dream "isn't valuable enough" to be considered collateral.
The unique set of skills I've cultivated "Isn't what we're looking for."
The projects I've spent my life working towards
"You're just not a candidate"
"We have better options."
"Your medical needs interfere with our attendance policy."
"Your appearance makes people feel uncomfortable"
"You don't have a degree in that."
"You need to apply online."
"That's all we can offer you."
"Your truth conflicts with our beliefs"
"You're just not worth that much."
"Sorry not interested."
In the mean time.
I'll be in my little hole.
Writing.
Training.
Playing the odd game here and there.
And going to work.
Because I've got to pay the phone bill, pay for school, and keep a roof over my head. And even if the work available doesn't offer enough to do that right now.
I at least have to try.
Monday, September 16, 2019
Scattered Neurons
I just finished watching Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency.
Though it is wacky, off the wall, and amusing the Gently in the show was not quite what I imagined the book version of him to be.
That said, it makes me think.
I look at the series, I think of the books.
I think about the "Interconnectedness of all things"
At the end of it all.
I think about the past few months of my life.
I've dreamed this.
I've lived this.
I've experienced it.
It feels like this is the second time.
My brain keeps trying to tell me that I've done all of this previously.
Maybe not exactly the same way, but very close to.
Either that or I dreamed it.
That's the weird thing about the crazy brain of mine that I have.
Not that I am Dirk Gently.
Being bandied about by the Universe and unearthing it's designs.
No.
It comes more from the observation of things.
Seeing things.
I dream so vividly that there have been times in my life that I've looked at the events and said:
"Yep. I told you so."
Except this time is weird.
Usually it's something quantifiable.
Something where I look at someone else in my life and say:
"This thing is going to happen because of this reason."
Their skepticism is understandable.
Much of what I have to offer in the way of information seems outlandish.
Often based on speculation and incomplete information.
But it's like playing chess.
There are only a finite number of moves that an individual can make in a given situation.
You may not know the move the opponent will make next.
But there is a pattern to it.
A finite number of choices to be made.
And that's how my brain sees the world.
Well, arguably, that's how all people's brains see the world.
Some are just more observant than others.
Me, I can't say that I'm more observant.
Just more...
instinctual?
I'm still alive after all.
Holes in my chest.
Broken bones.
Bits that don't work as designed because they broke
or were broke
.
These past few months.
A dream that I had?
Where I saw the places?
Saw the people?
It's weird.
It's kind of insane.
But, because of life, universe, and everything
...I can't help but think.
I've done this all before.
I took the trip before.
I rode that train before.
I came back West before.
Made the marches.
Stayed in the places.
Saw the things
Wrote the things
Applied for the jobs
Enrolled in the classes.
But this time I knew the names of some of the people involved.
Name I didn't know the first time around.
Their stories.
This time I was aware.
Was it coincidence?
Was it the patterning in my brain following a trail I've already walked?
Was it a dream that predicted more than I could have imagined?
Or, the most probable of all of the options.
I'm simply insane.
Regardless of the answer I'll continue to take my notes.
I'll continue to write my papers.
I'll continue to make my videos.
Continue beating down the barriers of academia.
Prove to the world,
Or at least to myself.
That yes.
Yes I can.
Yes I will.
I don't need to be famous.
I don't need to be "right?"
Even with my social awkwardness.
Even with the lack of trust in the people around me.
Even with the lack of trust in myself.
That my research is sound.
That there is quantifiable data to back some, if not all, of it up.
That even if some of the conclusions are mistaken.
Just by asking the questions
the truth can be uncovered.
That there is evidence to show that I am telling the truth.
That my instincts
Often shaped by the trauma and experiences of the past
Are not often wrong.
But after tonight
There are no more games to play.
No more friends to ask for help.
No more time to waste.
Either I pull myself together
get to work
get to school
write my papers.
Or I don't.
Either way.
The people that I left behind.
The people that I trusted.
The people that I counted on.
Did not trust me.
Didn't think I would come back.
Funny that.
I followed the clues.
Followed the investigation.
Followed my instincts.
And they lead me back here.
And at the end of the day.
All I can really say is that.
I did my best.
I did it my way.
Because every time I tried to do it "their" way.
I was harassed.
Discriminated against.
I turned the other cheek.
Bitched about it in the moment.
Complain about it from time to time.
But turned the other cheek.
Walked away.
Found a different rout.
Some would say "Let them get away with it."
Some would say. "Ran away."
Some would say "Didn't stand up for yourself."
But the truth is.
You surround yourself with the people you want to be like.
And at the end of it all I just wanted to be me.
And when I was younger the world tried to cover all up.
And me.
The me deep down inside.
Is a writer.
A commentator.
An investigator.
Some one that has loved and pursued both men and women.
But now.
I pursue no one.
The only thing I have left.
The only thing of value.
Is my art.
My writing.
and Me.
All I have is me.
My cat, dead years ago.
My family, can stay away.
My friends.
ha, ha, ha.
You have to be a friend to have friends.
And frankly.
I don't have those.
I am not one of those.
The only thing I have are colleagues, former colleagues, students, and teachers.
I had a partner once.
Or twice.
Maybe a few times
But they're not here anymore.
Not in my life anymore.
Written me off.
Cut me off.
Let me walk into danger without backup.
They wouldn't walk the streets at night with me.
Wouldn't live in the "Bad" neighborhoods with me.
Wanted to stay "Safe"
Didn't want to follow the path with me.
But the truth is.
There is no "Safe"
There is just this world.
There are just the people in it.
And me?
I walk in it.
I explore it.
I observe it.
The good.
The bad.
The scary.
The beautiful.
To me.
There is no ugly.
Just potential.
Maybe I'll find that partner some day.
The one that will fight by my side.
Not hide behind me.
Not expect me to hide behind them.
Not two converging paths with different goals.
Two walking the same path
With the same goals.
Willing to take the paths less traveled.
But until them I keep on keeping on.
Not trying to take over the world.
Not trying to save it.
Learning from it.
Healing it in small ways as I move through it.
Maybe I never will find that partner.
It's probable.
And with the events of the past few months.
With the way the world views me.
With the way I view the world.
Likely.
We'll see.
I'll see.
Until I don't.
Until then.
I'll stay safe.
Or at least as safe as the world around me.
And after I've written my papers.
After they're published.
After someone other than myself has read them.
I'll go back to the original plan.
Or the plan I've been following.
I'll march into warzones.
Some people think you need to go to the other side of the world to do it.
But the truth is
For most people
For me
For people like me
All you have to do is walk out the front door.
Go around the block.
Maybe there are not bombs being dropped.
But there are guns in the street.
There are killers in the shadows
There are drugs
And until I can't take it anymore I'll stay where I am.
Then.
After I've paid my debts.
Worked off the credit cards.
I'll take what I have left.
Throw or give it away.
Then go to another part of the world.
Find another warzone to sit in.
To observe.
To try and help.
To write about.
To report on.
And even if no one's reading.
or traveling with me.
I'll lend a hand.
I'll lend an ear.
And maybe.
Maybe I'll be able to sleep at night.
Though it is wacky, off the wall, and amusing the Gently in the show was not quite what I imagined the book version of him to be.
That said, it makes me think.
I look at the series, I think of the books.
I think about the "Interconnectedness of all things"
At the end of it all.
I think about the past few months of my life.
I've dreamed this.
I've lived this.
I've experienced it.
It feels like this is the second time.
My brain keeps trying to tell me that I've done all of this previously.
Maybe not exactly the same way, but very close to.
Either that or I dreamed it.
That's the weird thing about the crazy brain of mine that I have.
Not that I am Dirk Gently.
Being bandied about by the Universe and unearthing it's designs.
No.
It comes more from the observation of things.
Seeing things.
I dream so vividly that there have been times in my life that I've looked at the events and said:
"Yep. I told you so."
Except this time is weird.
Usually it's something quantifiable.
Something where I look at someone else in my life and say:
"This thing is going to happen because of this reason."
Their skepticism is understandable.
Much of what I have to offer in the way of information seems outlandish.
Often based on speculation and incomplete information.
But it's like playing chess.
There are only a finite number of moves that an individual can make in a given situation.
You may not know the move the opponent will make next.
But there is a pattern to it.
A finite number of choices to be made.
And that's how my brain sees the world.
Well, arguably, that's how all people's brains see the world.
Some are just more observant than others.
Me, I can't say that I'm more observant.
Just more...
instinctual?
I'm still alive after all.
Holes in my chest.
Broken bones.
Bits that don't work as designed because they broke
or were broke
.
These past few months.
A dream that I had?
Where I saw the places?
Saw the people?
It's weird.
It's kind of insane.
But, because of life, universe, and everything
...I can't help but think.
I've done this all before.
I took the trip before.
I rode that train before.
I came back West before.
Made the marches.
Stayed in the places.
Saw the things
Wrote the things
Applied for the jobs
Enrolled in the classes.
But this time I knew the names of some of the people involved.
Name I didn't know the first time around.
Their stories.
This time I was aware.
Was it coincidence?
Was it the patterning in my brain following a trail I've already walked?
Was it a dream that predicted more than I could have imagined?
Or, the most probable of all of the options.
I'm simply insane.
Regardless of the answer I'll continue to take my notes.
I'll continue to write my papers.
I'll continue to make my videos.
Continue beating down the barriers of academia.
Prove to the world,
Or at least to myself.
That yes.
Yes I can.
Yes I will.
I don't need to be famous.
I don't need to be "right?"
Even with my social awkwardness.
Even with the lack of trust in the people around me.
Even with the lack of trust in myself.
That my research is sound.
That there is quantifiable data to back some, if not all, of it up.
That even if some of the conclusions are mistaken.
Just by asking the questions
the truth can be uncovered.
That there is evidence to show that I am telling the truth.
That my instincts
Often shaped by the trauma and experiences of the past
Are not often wrong.
But after tonight
There are no more games to play.
No more friends to ask for help.
No more time to waste.
Either I pull myself together
get to work
get to school
write my papers.
Or I don't.
Either way.
The people that I left behind.
The people that I trusted.
The people that I counted on.
Did not trust me.
Didn't think I would come back.
Funny that.
I followed the clues.
Followed the investigation.
Followed my instincts.
And they lead me back here.
And at the end of the day.
All I can really say is that.
I did my best.
I did it my way.
Because every time I tried to do it "their" way.
I was harassed.
Discriminated against.
I turned the other cheek.
Bitched about it in the moment.
Complain about it from time to time.
But turned the other cheek.
Walked away.
Found a different rout.
Some would say "Let them get away with it."
Some would say. "Ran away."
Some would say "Didn't stand up for yourself."
But the truth is.
You surround yourself with the people you want to be like.
And at the end of it all I just wanted to be me.
And when I was younger the world tried to cover all up.
And me.
The me deep down inside.
Is a writer.
A commentator.
An investigator.
Some one that has loved and pursued both men and women.
But now.
I pursue no one.
The only thing I have left.
The only thing of value.
Is my art.
My writing.
and Me.
All I have is me.
My cat, dead years ago.
My family, can stay away.
My friends.
ha, ha, ha.
You have to be a friend to have friends.
And frankly.
I don't have those.
I am not one of those.
The only thing I have are colleagues, former colleagues, students, and teachers.
I had a partner once.
Or twice.
Maybe a few times
But they're not here anymore.
Not in my life anymore.
Written me off.
Cut me off.
Let me walk into danger without backup.
They wouldn't walk the streets at night with me.
Wouldn't live in the "Bad" neighborhoods with me.
Wanted to stay "Safe"
Didn't want to follow the path with me.
But the truth is.
There is no "Safe"
There is just this world.
There are just the people in it.
And me?
I walk in it.
I explore it.
I observe it.
The good.
The bad.
The scary.
The beautiful.
To me.
There is no ugly.
Just potential.
Maybe I'll find that partner some day.
The one that will fight by my side.
Not hide behind me.
Not expect me to hide behind them.
Not two converging paths with different goals.
Two walking the same path
With the same goals.
Willing to take the paths less traveled.
But until them I keep on keeping on.
Not trying to take over the world.
Not trying to save it.
Learning from it.
Healing it in small ways as I move through it.
Maybe I never will find that partner.
It's probable.
And with the events of the past few months.
With the way the world views me.
With the way I view the world.
Likely.
We'll see.
I'll see.
Until I don't.
Until then.
I'll stay safe.
Or at least as safe as the world around me.
And after I've written my papers.
After they're published.
After someone other than myself has read them.
I'll go back to the original plan.
Or the plan I've been following.
I'll march into warzones.
Some people think you need to go to the other side of the world to do it.
But the truth is
For most people
For me
For people like me
All you have to do is walk out the front door.
Go around the block.
Maybe there are not bombs being dropped.
But there are guns in the street.
There are killers in the shadows
There are drugs
And until I can't take it anymore I'll stay where I am.
Then.
After I've paid my debts.
Worked off the credit cards.
I'll take what I have left.
Throw or give it away.
Then go to another part of the world.
Find another warzone to sit in.
To observe.
To try and help.
To write about.
To report on.
And even if no one's reading.
or traveling with me.
I'll lend a hand.
I'll lend an ear.
And maybe.
Maybe I'll be able to sleep at night.
Sunday, September 15, 2019
Parents as Students
As I've been going through the steps of applying to the local community college so that I can start pursuing the goals in academia that I've had for many, many, years now I've been finding many hurdles placed in my way. I.E. securing funding that I need to cover housing, transport, food, and of course paying tuition for classes and books. As well as the ongoing research for the papers and program outlines that I'm working on for my graduate thesis.
Yes, I already have outlines and topics for those, and the subject of this post plays into one of them.
Luckily, in many communities, veterans services address this for those with a military background.
For me, both work and school will be starting at the same time.
A car, would admittedly, make transport much easier. However, as part of my physical and mental therapy I only drive when needed for work or not having another viable option for transportation needs. Not only that, but owning and maintaining a vehicle is an expense that equates to having another house hold dependent.
Yes, I already have outlines and topics for those, and the subject of this post plays into one of them.
As any adult learner attempting to break their way into secondary education the biggest issue that you run into is finding the time and energy to do the school work. Not to mention, for those with Trauma in their pasts, finding a ways to navigate a landscape often geared much more towards younger individuals, or those, without such experiences.
Luckily, in many communities, veterans services address this for those with a military background.
For me, both work and school will be starting at the same time.
I'll be working close to full time to begin with, possibly more as work hours and my own motivation make it possible, while also attending school full time. Making that schedule work is going to be rough. Especially when I consider that I will be attempting this in an area where public transit only runs during "regular business hours" with limited service on Saturdays and No service on Sundays.
The distances between school, work, and where I'm currently staying all average about an hour under optimal weather and traffic conditions . With approximately two hours walking on the longer side.
The distances between school, work, and where I'm currently staying all average about an hour under optimal weather and traffic conditions . With approximately two hours walking on the longer side.
Even when public transit is available these commute times are often not lessened.
A car, would admittedly, make transport much easier. However, as part of my physical and mental therapy I only drive when needed for work or not having another viable option for transportation needs. Not only that, but owning and maintaining a vehicle is an expense that equates to having another house hold dependent.
Yes, I'll be getting a bike to reduce those travel times exponentially. I had already purchased one, but it was stolen while I was doing placement exams. And, as my remaining resources are needed to keep me sheltered, fed, and bills paid until work starts, I will have to wait until my financial situation stabilizes before acquiring another one.
Eventually I would like to focus on the pure academia, but as I go through General Education I am going to attempt to maintain full time employment at the same time. Both to cover my expenses and as part to the ongoing research that I'm conducting in regards to Community Development and Support.
Even though I do qualify for financial aid to cover school costs, without an academic institution or program to sign off on the costs, the expenses of the tools and travel for my research are still going be coming largely out of my own pocket. Ethically I, and I think the laws, see it as an misuse of scholarship and grant money unless it is recognized as part of an existing program.
My situation aside, let's look at the issues of a Parent as a Student. Because they have the same difficulties that I do with the added difficulty and cost of finding child care. Also, as a parent, they need to have the ability to be available and present for their child.
My situation aside, let's look at the issues of a Parent as a Student. Because they have the same difficulties that I do with the added difficulty and cost of finding child care. Also, as a parent, they need to have the ability to be available and present for their child.
So here is my outline for a Child Care program that could be adopted by any Secondary Educational program.
1. For an enrolled student offer free child care through the school.
2. For Graduates, offering subsidized or discounted Child Care
3. The child care program being staffed, and primarily, operated by Students.
1. For an enrolled student offer free child care through the school.
2. For Graduates, offering subsidized or discounted Child Care
3. The child care program being staffed, and primarily, operated by Students.
4. Staffing would come from programs training for.
- Education
- Child Care or Child Development
- Nursing
- Emergency Response
- Social and Criminal Justice.
- Library Sciences
- Any student with a major or focus in regards to providing services for youth with an advisory sign off.
5. Students working in the program would receive credit towards their degree.
6. The program could be offered as part of a T.A. or Work Study program to help off set their tuition costs and give students practical work experience for their resume after graduation.
6. The program could be offered as part of a T.A. or Work Study program to help off set their tuition costs and give students practical work experience for their resume after graduation.
7. For Student Parents with children at the k-12 levels, transportation could be provided for the child to get to and from school and the child care program.
8. Medical and Emergency Response students would be able to offer, with proper instruction and oversight, basic check ups, vaccines, and other services relevant to that profession.
9. Offering the program as a 24 hour opportunity would
8. Medical and Emergency Response students would be able to offer, with proper instruction and oversight, basic check ups, vaccines, and other services relevant to that profession.
9. Offering the program as a 24 hour opportunity would
-Give Parent Students that work late or overnight shifts viable, affordable, child care.
- Prepare Nursing and other Public Service Students for the scheduling and other difficulties associated with working 2nd and 3rd shifts.
10. Offering this program to Junior and Senior High School students can
-Create another way to have college credits before entering secondary education
- Give work experience to Students not planning on going into secondary education.
- Create more Student Outreach opportunities.
11. Keeping these programs on or near campus would benefit Student Parents by
-Reducing travel time between work, school, and other necessary errands.
-Offering basic such as check ups would reduce overall healthcare costs for the family.
-Offering basic such as check ups would reduce overall healthcare costs for the family.
-Making responding to a child's needs easier for the child, parent, and the child's caregivers.
- Giving the child role models and mentors for their own academic development.
- Giving the child role models and mentors for their own academic development.
- Giving single parents support they may not normally have.
12. The Program would benefit the Institution by
- Qualifying the Institution for further grants and subsidies
- Creating more educational paths for qualifying students.
- Creating Paying jobs for Child Care professionals, Educators, and Students.
- Creating more pathways from High School to Secondary education.
- Creating professional training opportunities for periphery programs.
12. Other Benefits
- Parent Learners would be able to better focus on their studies.
- Finding and Addressing children's handicaps would be better addressed
- More qualified tutors for young learners in need of extra assistance.
This is, obviously, just a rough outline.
However if professionals and programs took this outline and adjusted it to the needs of their communities while addressing both available infrastructure of the schools and public services, then a viable and arguably, sustainable program could be developed. I feel that this would support a work force ever moving to a twenty four hour schedule and make more successful paths for adult learners to create a better work/life/educational balance for themselves and their families.
Saturday, September 14, 2019
Friday Night
Today was Friday the 13th.
And a full moon.
After the past couple of sleepless nights I've been able to net myself about sixish or so hours of sleep in the last 48. But I was up early today and out running errands to makes sure all of my ducks are in a row for starting class, and hopefully work, this next week.
It was near sundown by the time I made it back to the room, then loaded up my practice gear and went out to the park to get in a decent workout even though I was bone tired and very seriously thought about just crawling into bed and trying to force myself to get some sleep. But, instead I did my usual training montage for about an hour and a half.
On my way back there was a lady. She was in distress and not entirely coherent so I escorted her to the nearest fire station a and the folks in there took care of her. After dropping off all of the practice equipment it was nearing dark. It being such a rare event. Full bright moon on a day so layered with superstition I loaded the light bag up with some first aid gear and a sword and headed out into the night.
I walked through the park, stopping at the castle to wait for Luna to show. Once here light was bright in the sky I headed down the trail and started towards the city center. But, instead of making it to where the bars resided I found the local pool hall. I thought it would have been more busy on a Friday night, but there were a number of open tables.
I stayed and played for a couple of hours. Trying out different trick shots and playing against myself. A couple of the locals came over and asked to play. The first guy said something about it being a "waste of time" under his breath. And the second was trying to gauge my abilities while giving off "Alpha Male Machismo" all the way down to his flaming skull pool cue. Me, playing with no powder for my hands, dead on my feet, and really not caring if I won or not messed with both of them. Leaving my balls blocking pockets or giving my opponent nothing to shoot at.
At just after midnight I headed out. I wanted to stay and play around on the table some more, but I had almost fallen asleep during my second match. So, I turned into a pumpkin and headed out the door.
I passed a club, music pounding inside, and mountainous men standing outside all wearing security t-shirts that stretched over their arms.
I chuckled and continued on.
And a full moon.
After the past couple of sleepless nights I've been able to net myself about sixish or so hours of sleep in the last 48. But I was up early today and out running errands to makes sure all of my ducks are in a row for starting class, and hopefully work, this next week.
It was near sundown by the time I made it back to the room, then loaded up my practice gear and went out to the park to get in a decent workout even though I was bone tired and very seriously thought about just crawling into bed and trying to force myself to get some sleep. But, instead I did my usual training montage for about an hour and a half.
On my way back there was a lady. She was in distress and not entirely coherent so I escorted her to the nearest fire station a and the folks in there took care of her. After dropping off all of the practice equipment it was nearing dark. It being such a rare event. Full bright moon on a day so layered with superstition I loaded the light bag up with some first aid gear and a sword and headed out into the night.
I walked through the park, stopping at the castle to wait for Luna to show. Once here light was bright in the sky I headed down the trail and started towards the city center. But, instead of making it to where the bars resided I found the local pool hall. I thought it would have been more busy on a Friday night, but there were a number of open tables.
I stayed and played for a couple of hours. Trying out different trick shots and playing against myself. A couple of the locals came over and asked to play. The first guy said something about it being a "waste of time" under his breath. And the second was trying to gauge my abilities while giving off "Alpha Male Machismo" all the way down to his flaming skull pool cue. Me, playing with no powder for my hands, dead on my feet, and really not caring if I won or not messed with both of them. Leaving my balls blocking pockets or giving my opponent nothing to shoot at.
At just after midnight I headed out. I wanted to stay and play around on the table some more, but I had almost fallen asleep during my second match. So, I turned into a pumpkin and headed out the door.
I passed a club, music pounding inside, and mountainous men standing outside all wearing security t-shirts that stretched over their arms.
I chuckled and continued on.
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
18 Years Later
Being woke by a phone call from a bill collector on today of all days.
Jesus.
I had honestly hoped to avoid going out into the world today and focusing on school paperwork and maybe playing a few of the silly hidden object games I down loaded before falling asleep last night.
They got married about fifteen years ago.
I ended up leaving that airline a little while later.
Happy 18th Anniversary.
Jesus.
I had honestly hoped to avoid going out into the world today and focusing on school paperwork and maybe playing a few of the silly hidden object games I down loaded before falling asleep last night.
But no, apparently there is still a balance with the power company. One that I had not received any form of notification about until today.
Reminds me of those days.
The house phone only ringing mostly because of my roommate at the time having forgotten to pay this bill or that bill because he rarely actually stayed at the apartment.
Reminds me of those days.
The house phone only ringing mostly because of my roommate at the time having forgotten to pay this bill or that bill because he rarely actually stayed at the apartment.
Always at his girlfriends house.
They got married about fifteen years ago.
And he came to my wedding a few years back.
After that we haven't really kept in touch.
Hell, I'm not really good about keeping in touch with anyone.
Regularly clearing my contacts list and unfriending people on social media when I change jobs haven't heard from a person for several months or years.
Hell, I'm not really good about keeping in touch with anyone.
Regularly clearing my contacts list and unfriending people on social media when I change jobs haven't heard from a person for several months or years.
An old habit from when I first got a Cell Phone that I still haven't shaken.
Even after all this time.
Hell I stopped keeping a "little black book" for the same reason.
I didn't want the people I was hunting to dig up anyone that I cared about.
But that's a different story.
I didn't want the people I was hunting to dig up anyone that I cared about.
But that's a different story.
A different set of traumas.
I can still remember groggily sitting up on the couch to the sound of the phone ringing.
I can't remember if it was the futon or the blue and white frilly skirted affair that my girlfriend at the time had brought over. I think the futon because I seem to remember my knees being up in front of me when I sat back down.
I can't remember if it was the futon or the blue and white frilly skirted affair that my girlfriend at the time had brought over. I think the futon because I seem to remember my knees being up in front of me when I sat back down.
I can't remember if I had worked the night before or not. I worked evenings that often turned into early mornings. Regardless of working. I had stayed up until sun rise playing video games as I usually did. Grinding my way through whatever JRPG had my attention.
Either Final Fantasy IX, Fantasy Star Online, or a replay of Chrono Cross considering the time frame. Then I would offset the JRPG grinds with white knuckled time challenges in what ever the current Need For Speed game was.
~
House Keeping just knocked on the door of my room. I haven't heard from them in a couple of days and didn't expect that. I fought back tears as I passed my trash out the door and grabbed the dirty towels and traded them for fresh ones.
The tears are still flowing.
The tears are still flowing.
~
But I remember going to my bedroom grabbing the phone.
"Hello". I mumbled into the receiver while checking the caller I.D.
"Hello". I mumbled into the receiver while checking the caller I.D.
"Hey, it's me. Have you seen the news?" My roommate asked in a tight voice. Not a tone I was used to hearing from him at the time.
"No, why?" I asked dragging the phone line back out into the living room and picking up the remote.
"Just turn it on."
The T.V. blinked to life in the bright morning light.
"No, why?" I asked dragging the phone line back out into the living room and picking up the remote.
"Just turn it on."
The T.V. blinked to life in the bright morning light.
We were bachelors so the only form of curtains we had were the mini blinds that seem to come standard in apartments the world over. Their slats stained yellow from years of young chain smoking airline employees cycling in and out.
I didn't hear what the news readers were saying. My eyes still bleary with sleep didn't read whatever title the news was giving the moment. But I saw, as they replayed the second plane striking.
"Holy shit." I said in a quite voice.
"Yeah." We sat in silence for a moment while the talking heads gave commentary and showed footage from different angles.
"See you at work?"
"Make sure you call your family and tell them you're okay before you leave."
"Yeah, I will."
"Don't wear your uniform."
"Yeah, okay. I'll be there in about a half an hour."
I peeled myself out of the clothes I had fallen asleep in and put on a fresh set of clothes not even bothering to shower.
I didn't hear what the news readers were saying. My eyes still bleary with sleep didn't read whatever title the news was giving the moment. But I saw, as they replayed the second plane striking.
"Holy shit." I said in a quite voice.
"Yeah." We sat in silence for a moment while the talking heads gave commentary and showed footage from different angles.
"See you at work?"
"Make sure you call your family and tell them you're okay before you leave."
"Yeah, I will."
"Don't wear your uniform."
"Yeah, okay. I'll be there in about a half an hour."
I peeled myself out of the clothes I had fallen asleep in and put on a fresh set of clothes not even bothering to shower.
A call to my parents while I changed.
My mom picked .
"Did you see the news?"
"Yeah, is everything okay where you are?"
"I don't know, but I'm headed to work."
"I love you."
"Love you too."
~
Writing about it helps. The tears are dry now, just the feeling of morning hunger and the same quiet acceptance I driving into work that morning.
~
"Did you see the news?"
"Yeah, is everything okay where you are?"
"I don't know, but I'm headed to work."
"I love you."
"Love you too."
~
Writing about it helps. The tears are dry now, just the feeling of morning hunger and the same quiet acceptance I driving into work that morning.
~
After that, the drive to work and the employee bus to the terminal don't register beyond knowing that they had to have happened because I made it to work.
Walking through the terminal in my civilian clothes with my badge around my neck seemed so weird. The T.V.s were off, there were no announcements being made. Just massive amounts of travelers sitting everywhere there was space on the floors, every seat in the waiting areas full. The halls, full but still space to maneuver. The gate agents and ticket counter workers interspersed throughout the mass of luggage and people passing out soda and snacks as they repeated the mantra. "You'll know more as soon as we do."
I caught site of one of the topside supervisors heading the same direction I was along with a one of my supervisors. I moved up next to them. "Where do you need me?" I asked as they, like everyone else wore their masks of professionalism in the face of a scared sea of humanity.
"Check in at Ops and see what they need." He said.
The three of us headed down, the Topside supervisor peeling off to find a place to smoke and probably quietly cry as we entered the office.
It was all hands on deck.
Walking through the terminal in my civilian clothes with my badge around my neck seemed so weird. The T.V.s were off, there were no announcements being made. Just massive amounts of travelers sitting everywhere there was space on the floors, every seat in the waiting areas full. The halls, full but still space to maneuver. The gate agents and ticket counter workers interspersed throughout the mass of luggage and people passing out soda and snacks as they repeated the mantra. "You'll know more as soon as we do."
I caught site of one of the topside supervisors heading the same direction I was along with a one of my supervisors. I moved up next to them. "Where do you need me?" I asked as they, like everyone else wore their masks of professionalism in the face of a scared sea of humanity.
"Check in at Ops and see what they need." He said.
The three of us headed down, the Topside supervisor peeling off to find a place to smoke and probably quietly cry as we entered the office.
It was all hands on deck.
A sight rarely seen save for shift changes during winter storms. And even then there was usually one or two people that couldn't make it in because of snow or ice.
But it was quiet.
The radio, at this time of day, usually playing classic rock or country music. The sounds of calculators and computer keyboards that usually made a rhythm under the phones ringing and usual banter between Ops agents, Refulers, Ramp Agents, and the odd grumpy mechanic gone. The only sound was a t.v. that had been brought in and set up at the data entry station in the center of the room. It's black square at odds with the cream of the t.v. monitors.
Like the t.v. at the apartment, that I do not honestly remember turning off as I pulled myself together and headed out the door, it was just a drone of speculation, replayed footage of the impacts. And, as the day continued, various scenes of the rescue operations.
I poked my head into the nerve center of Ops. Where all the radios were piped through. ATC, ground to Air, the topside and ramp-side channels, the phones, the screens that updated flight status, the computer with the flight data.
Our best was sitting in that seat. He always looked frazzled, but when he was in the seat things, even at their most hectic, were some how kept magically in order. The other supervisors and a couple of the more senior Ops agents cycling through in the backup seat answering calls and checking flight info for baggage and passenger updates.
I waited for a lull in the chaos and asked the man in the seat where he needed me. He turned and looked at me very quietly, very calmly. Everyone in the rooms attention on him since he was the one that all of the info was flowing through.
Like the t.v. at the apartment, that I do not honestly remember turning off as I pulled myself together and headed out the door, it was just a drone of speculation, replayed footage of the impacts. And, as the day continued, various scenes of the rescue operations.
I poked my head into the nerve center of Ops. Where all the radios were piped through. ATC, ground to Air, the topside and ramp-side channels, the phones, the screens that updated flight status, the computer with the flight data.
Our best was sitting in that seat. He always looked frazzled, but when he was in the seat things, even at their most hectic, were some how kept magically in order. The other supervisors and a couple of the more senior Ops agents cycling through in the backup seat answering calls and checking flight info for baggage and passenger updates.
I waited for a lull in the chaos and asked the man in the seat where he needed me. He turned and looked at me very quietly, very calmly. Everyone in the rooms attention on him since he was the one that all of the info was flowing through.
"We're missing a plane."
"Which one?" I asked in quiet response.
His eyes broke from mine and he turned to the supervisor that had entered with me.
He gave the room the details.
After that he took a break, the Supervisor I had just come in with taking over in the seat.
After talking with the various other agents and finding out that most of the planes were already on the ground or had never taken off I headed upstairs to help as best as I could. Answering questions the best that I could, seeing if the people upstairs needed a break or a hand. All of us doing our best to keep each other together and the passengers calm.
"Which one?" I asked in quiet response.
His eyes broke from mine and he turned to the supervisor that had entered with me.
He gave the room the details.
After that he took a break, the Supervisor I had just come in with taking over in the seat.
After talking with the various other agents and finding out that most of the planes were already on the ground or had never taken off I headed upstairs to help as best as I could. Answering questions the best that I could, seeing if the people upstairs needed a break or a hand. All of us doing our best to keep each other together and the passengers calm.
Luckily the missing plane was one of the many made to land at an airport in rout as military jets scoured the skys for rogue aircraft. We only found out because one of the pilots had called into personel to see if they were being compensated for the unscheduled layover.
The next few days were a blur of chain smoking cigarettes, forgetting to eat, and falling into exhausted sleep at the end of long emotional days. The only thing to do while the planes were grounded was wander around, do the flight checks, make sure that people had what they neededthen arrange ground transportation for the closer destinations and accommodations for those that had been trying to head east.
After the planes went back up into the air the next few months were fueled by speculation and paranoia. For the Ops agents and Supervisors who had those three lovely letters under their job description : G.S.C., Ground Security Coordinator, it was constant doubles and months of pushing the Union Contract almost to the point of breaking for consecutive days worked and down time between shifts.
As the G.S.C. it was our jobs, to do our regular duties and also to man the security check points to make sure all of the constantly shifting rules and regulations were being adhered to. Being the brunt of the public backlash as scared and angry passengers questioned the need for it.
The next few days were a blur of chain smoking cigarettes, forgetting to eat, and falling into exhausted sleep at the end of long emotional days. The only thing to do while the planes were grounded was wander around, do the flight checks, make sure that people had what they neededthen arrange ground transportation for the closer destinations and accommodations for those that had been trying to head east.
After the planes went back up into the air the next few months were fueled by speculation and paranoia. For the Ops agents and Supervisors who had those three lovely letters under their job description : G.S.C., Ground Security Coordinator, it was constant doubles and months of pushing the Union Contract almost to the point of breaking for consecutive days worked and down time between shifts.
As the G.S.C. it was our jobs, to do our regular duties and also to man the security check points to make sure all of the constantly shifting rules and regulations were being adhered to. Being the brunt of the public backlash as scared and angry passengers questioned the need for it.
White passengers trying to point at brown passengers and whisper conspiratorially.
Often trying to divert lynch mobs from trying to break out right in the boarding areas. Not to mention the business travelers trying to pretend they were exempt from such scrutiny. My quip, often swallowed was, have you been to Ireland recently? And me, being a kid trying to keep the peace, often gave the self righteous pricks and scarred adults a target they thought they could yell at. A little punching bag they felt safe unloading on. I was usually polite and cried as I filled my lungs with smoke almost daily.
Often trying to divert lynch mobs from trying to break out right in the boarding areas. Not to mention the business travelers trying to pretend they were exempt from such scrutiny. My quip, often swallowed was, have you been to Ireland recently? And me, being a kid trying to keep the peace, often gave the self righteous pricks and scarred adults a target they thought they could yell at. A little punching bag they felt safe unloading on. I was usually polite and cried as I filled my lungs with smoke almost daily.
I ended up leaving that airline a little while later.
Partly because of the stress and strain of being both the person with the least seniority which meant constantly getting a brunt of the mandatory shifts and having little to no control over the "voluntary shifts" I signed up for in order to maintain some semblance of time off. Then couple that with the "good ol'boys" culture that was prevalent in the station at the time.
Being queer, viewed as a privileged child who hadn't earned their spot in the ops department, and being someone that actually took the time to study the organizations, conflicts, and decision makers behind the terrorist attacks I was slowly derided and bullied out for my views, my age, and my questions. As the Iraq war started and my friends mobilized I fell into a spiral of exhaustion and depression that I couldn't seem to pull myself out of.
One through line that was prevalent through out all of it was that "drugs funded the war on terror." And I took the bait hook line and sinker. I tried to trace the thread at home.
After I left the airline and the person I thought was my partner decided to move on I returned to my home town. My parents letting me stay with them while I pulled myself together. I sought out help from local mental health professionals. Though their answer was to prescribe me antidepressants that left my mind hazy and unable to focus. And, not feeling like I could turn to anyone for any legal help I ended up working for my dad.
Someone that didn't understand or know what was going on and who our personalities and viewpoints clashed like water trying to put out a grease fire.
So I turned to other family members that I thought were more, liberal? I guess. And found what the propaganda of the time told me was "funding the war on terror." So I went in and insinuated myself into the culture and reveled in the fact that not only was I able to keep helping, but I was finding the same issues that plagued my work place before I had left it.
I can only imagine what the local L.E.Os thought when I hauled my ass in, half starved and doped to the gills with whatever crap it was they had laced the pot with....but again.
After I left the airline and the person I thought was my partner decided to move on I returned to my home town. My parents letting me stay with them while I pulled myself together. I sought out help from local mental health professionals. Though their answer was to prescribe me antidepressants that left my mind hazy and unable to focus. And, not feeling like I could turn to anyone for any legal help I ended up working for my dad.
Someone that didn't understand or know what was going on and who our personalities and viewpoints clashed like water trying to put out a grease fire.
So I turned to other family members that I thought were more, liberal? I guess. And found what the propaganda of the time told me was "funding the war on terror." So I went in and insinuated myself into the culture and reveled in the fact that not only was I able to keep helping, but I was finding the same issues that plagued my work place before I had left it.
I can only imagine what the local L.E.Os thought when I hauled my ass in, half starved and doped to the gills with whatever crap it was they had laced the pot with....but again.
A story for another time.
Anyways.
Anyways.
~
The tears dried shortly after I started writing again.
I might go out and get some lunch before coming back and working on the school paperwork.
Maybe even give my pride a rest and apply for government assistance, but I think that blow will need to wait until tomorrow.
I have food here but a little sunshine and stretching my legs will help, hopefully, shake the rest of the funk I woke up in.
I have food here but a little sunshine and stretching my legs will help, hopefully, shake the rest of the funk I woke up in.
Plus, not having a microwave or a fridge and working with a very limited budget, that as I was woke and informed this morning is even more limited than I thought, my food options are relegated to tinned meats and fruits and what ever grab and go's the local markets have.
Happy 18th Anniversary.
Sunday, September 8, 2019
My Hero Ron
I just finished watching The BlacKkKlansman.
An excellent movie and at the end you saw everything I cautioned about during the 2016 election cycle.
So here's the down and dirty truth of it.
The reason I do what I do, am the way that I am, don't trust the way that I should, and am often silent when I should be yelling.
The Last Wizard.
Dragon Jack.
Where did these names come from?
When I was a child I was raised by and around people that held the ideals of the Klan.
Family.
Friends of the Family.
Luckily, not my Parents.
Though their humor crude and often laughing along with the "jokes" I could say that by their actions and who they chose to spend their own time with that they proved to be removed from much of that thinking.
Not all, they were after all, products of thier place and time.
But they placed the worth of an individual on their work ethic and contributions rather than the color of their skin or sexual orientation.
In other writings I've eluded to the people in my life that I thought were involved in these groups.
Held friends and co-workers at arms length trying to discover their true intentions because of this past.
But why "The Last Wizard"
Why "Dragon Jack?"
When I was a young adult first entering into the work force as an "independant" young person I was afforded an oppertunity at an airline that preached LUV as their motto.
What I discovered was much of the ingrained racisism and sexism in their very dress code. In the way that the Union was structured at the time.
And, lest I not forget, the way that many of my co-workers were treated.
All of this made me angry and bitter.
"Don't play dominos with those people."
"Don't date here"
"Your hair is to long."
"Take your ear ring out"
"Here's a fork, Eat Like an American"
Were all things said to me by Union Members.
So I Ieft that Airline and Chose to seek out other, less prestigous, employment. I began digging into myself as a human being. Into what beliefs and creeds made the core of who I was.
Reflecting as I did so on who I and those around me really were.
My car was a safe ride to and from work.
And for that reason I had a pick.
A metal toothed.
Raised Fist.
Black.
Pick.
Not purchased, but left in the passenger door by a coworker.
After that I kept it in the CD case that I kept in the car.
Not that CD cases are a thing to keep anymore, but at the time they were a thing to steal and mine was stolen.
But that, in retrospect was serandipitious.
Because it allowed me to follow the clues after returning home.
Alowed me to find out who was in "Top City"
I kept my shit together, mostly, until the kids were over one afternoon.
After that I couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't keep my shit together to keep digging.
Fastforward a few years and I find myself moving to the west coast.
A place, that by reputation of those that I had obseved, "befriended" and ultimatly held to account, was a place full of "Niggers, Spics, Kikes, Dikes, and Faggots."
Sounded like a lovely place to live to me.
At least I wouldn't have to "be friends" or "be sociable" with those I didn't want to be around. The people that, when out of public eye or earshot, would degrade my friends and peers.
That's the thing about television and reputation though.
Sure, maybe the larger cities and Southern California have a basis for Such a Reputation. Maybe Portland and Seattle have more diverse communities than that of the surrounding areas.
But, as I discovered after moving out here that north of Sacramento was very similar in demographic, ideology, and laws on the books to that of the "Middle America" that I grew up in.
That the West, as the Media and Ignorant of my home would lead me to believe, was not so "Liberal Elite" as one would think.
Yes, over the interveining decade that I have been here the demographics have started to change a little. And yes, there are pockets of "Liberal Resistance".
Or as resistant as nonviolent individuals can be in a place where guns are carried to the grocery store and everywhere in between.
I am not saying that guns should be outlawed, hell, if you actually watched my video on Gun Control you would know that my ideas lend themselves in the very opposite direction.
But at the end of it I still find myself fighting the same fights, having the same debates, with people that have the same ideologies I was trying to get away from.
It's funny, in one work situation while I've been out here there was a young man who was boasting about being part of, or associated with, the "Klan". Not being threatening about it, but letting another co-worker of color know that was "his people" and my eye twitched.
This is America and everyone is entitled to thier opinioin and beliefs, but after hearing it coming from someone bairly out of high school I knew that there was still a long way to go before things are going to truly get bettter.
After hearing about the actions of some of the kids at a local highschool I knew that there was still a long fight ahead.
So again you ask.
Why "The Last Wizard"
Well, the easy part is that I am a role player. A person that regularly inhabits the lives and stories of people in situations removed from my own. Often, but not exclusivly, in the lands of Wizards, Dwarves, and Elves.
The hard part of that answer is because I want to see "The Last Wizard" I Want to see the power that these supremisicst exert so heavily over this nation put into check and the Democracy that we, as a nation, are so wanton to spread over the rest of the world become truly representative of the people that inhabit it.
I would like to see them recogonized as the threat that they are.
Like to see them recognized and held accountable the way that other terrorist orgonizations are.
After all, when you legitimatly look at all of the terrorist actions perpitrated on American Soil since 2001 and even before, you will see that the White Supremicist influence is on far more of them than that of "Radical Islamists" or the "Invading Immigrants."
No, from this researchers observations and findings, it is the influence of White Supermacy that has caused far more:
the human and civil rights violations perpitrated on American Soil and in the various wars that we have fought in.
That the production and distribution of meth and opioids is largely a product of White Nationlists trying to fund their war.
The escelations of peceful protests to that of violence.
And lest us not forget: The large majority mass shootings.
So, that is why "the Last Wizard"
Now why "Dragon Jack?"
Dragon : Because I breath fire.
Fire in the form of Truth.
A fire that I want to see spread around the world to ignite the hearths of a more just and peaceful future.
I seek the truth, I learn the truth, I spread the truth.
And if what I belive to be facts are found to be wrong I reevaluate, reexamine, and seek out experts to find out both why what I believed was wrong and what the actual truth is.
Also, I sometimes forget to brush my teeth when I'm distracted by research.
Shout out to Mr. Waterson!
But mostly the truth.
Why : Jack?
Jack of All Trades,
Master of None.
I learn a little of everything, so that when I find myself in a new setting or a new situation I will be able to bring a new perspective to it.
Will be able to expand the bounds of my knowledge and understanding.
So there you go.
Ron, if you're still out there, know that there are some of us still out here trying to find them.
Trying to thwart them.
Know that some of us even used our real names because, we to, were eager rookies to caught up in the moment to think of another name.
Power to all of the People.
And as always.
Stay safe out there.
Saturday, September 7, 2019
Saturday
Today was a day.
I woke early to take the placement exam at the local community college to see what general education level I am realistically at academically after having graduated high school nearly 20 years ago now.
People have been watching me since I got back in the valley. Not sure the who's what's and why's of all of it. But the result was me locking my bike, going into the main building to find out where I needed to go for the placement testing, and then walking out again less than five minutes later to see a guy riding off on my bike.
I tried to track him, but the by the time my brain caught up to the fact that it was indeed my bike the dude was riding off on I'd already lost sight of him and missed the direction he took. I tried tracking him, but at the end of it I couldn't run the blocks the way I needed to to follow because of this damned cracked rib.
Yeah, it's cracked.
I really don't fuggin know how it happened either. And that's the part that bugs the shit out of me. I don't remember getting hit or falling in a manner that would have caused it.
Regardless, it's been a week now, and the damned thing still hurts when I breath. Which has made my training go a lot slower, my mobility more trying, and my over all bullshit tolerance much less.
That's why I bought the bike. So that I would be able to get to and from work with little stress to the cracked rib and have energy enough to go between work/school/and maybe other work if I can pull something together.
And yes, I want to run out and replace the bike right now, but the budget is so tight it's getting to the point of being the difference between days instead of weeks, and though I did get the job I interviewed for it's still only offering minimum wage and just shy of full time hours which means the budget is going to stay on a razors edge until I can find something that pays a little better or I can get a grant to fund my work and research.
I might look like I have money, but aside from two month old shoes that I've nearly chewed through during my training the clothes and things I wear are from the clearance rack, the thrift shop, or I've had almost as long as I've been out of high school.
I take try to take care of myself and my belongings, make them last and survive. I invest in the things that I purchase. Trying to find the most cost efficient version of an item while taking into regards its sustainability.
It's part of my economics research.
Yes, I am hard on both because I work and play hard but at the end of it I'm still someone that shops cheap and only buys the expensive things when I think they'll legitimately survive the hardships that my body and belongings tend to go through between work, training, and the very rare days I give myself to relax.
Regardless, after the bike being stolen I was supposed to have an interview with a person about a more permanent place to stay later in the afternoon. However, as I was on the bus heading that direction I got a call from the person that was looking into the missing bike and asking about paperwork on it. I had, of course, taken the paperwork to the storage unit and filed it with the rest of the instruction manuals and documentation for my various tools and work equipment already. So, hoping that some sort of justice might be served, I got off at the next stop. But, being Saturday and buses running sparsely I quick walked as fast as my rib would allow me to the storage unit to check the paper work.
Of course the information needed was supposed to have been filled out by hand rather than being in the manual already, so the trip wasted, I quick marched as fast as I could back to the bus station to try and catch the bus, again, to make it to the appointment on time.
I met a man in his late 60's trying to get to the hospital for heart medication but in a similar living and mobility situation as my own. I wanted to offer to get him a room for the night since the shelter wasn't taking in people for beds until Monday. But, with the budget stretched as thin as it is and my trust issues being what they are, I listened politely and offered a few suggestions for making his mobility easier while racking my brain to remember if there were any other shelter options aside from the local mission. Partly for him, and partly because if I misstep on my budget again I'll be in the same situation very shortly.
I stood at the entrance of the bus and watched one of the bus employees telling an upset woman that she couldn't bring her stroller and laundry onto the bus.
Ribs hurting, anger boiling at the events of the morning, half asleep from my body being boomeranged between West Coast time and trying to prepare it for a newly acquired overnights position, while the realization that I was going to be late for the meeting hanging over me like a dark little rain cloud. I threw up my hands and walked the half hour back to the hotel to work on financial paperwork for school and try to get some semblance of forward momentum back into my day.
My inconsiderate ass, to tied up in my own bullshit to text the person I was supposed to be meeting with, received a message shortly after I got back to the room. Luckily they were polite enough to reschedule for Monday but I still felt like an absolute ass hat.
I could have met with them Sunday before the bike was stolen. Not to mention that the buses do not run on Sundays here.
For some reason the local powers that be think that people don't need to get to work and conduct business on Sundays. That would equate a roughly four hour hard march each direction.
All in an effort to both interview and be interviewed by a potential roommate. Which if my rib were not busted, I would do just out of spite to the asshole that made the decision to prevent those without a car from being able to have the dignity of mobility one day of the week. And if it weren't for an interview of sorts I would do it for the fun of it after assembling the proper gear and supplies.
Then, as I was nearing the end of the paper work, the FASFA started asking for tax return information. Which, of course, I have filed neatly away but is either in the storage unit or with an ex-wife who isn't talking to me right now. An hours hard walk away and to late in the day to make it back to the unit and have time to check before they closed the gates for the night I fell into an exhausted sleep while listening to the news.
And that's where I am now, woke by someone playing a harmonica and the overly loud conversations of people outside my hotel room.
Which, yes, I want to complain, but there's something strangely comforting in hearing a practicing musician.
But I'm awake now.
Between the pain in the rib preventing me from working myself hard enough to fall into anything resembling a restful slumber and waking me periodically when I roll into the wrong position. And trying to readjust to this dry heat that steals my energy much faster than the more humid climates. I still feel exhausted and need to focus on re hydration if I'm going to work and go to school without a car.
This past week has reminded me however, why I ran so hard to get away from this area to begin with. Tried to relocate, unsuccessfully, in my own weird way.
But also why I came back.
When I first visited this area something called to me. When I had my quite little library job, biking to and fro, and writing/telling stories about fantastical realms I was at peace.
I came back to see if I could find that peace again, try to reconnect with the people that I respect and hope to craft something of a future for this valley that helped my mind heal and rediscover my purpose in life.
But the thing I'm slowly rediscovering about this place is that the peaceful places I remembered are haunted by memories or I don't feel like I belong any more. Outside of being much more friendly to a person who prefers to travel by foot and rail, the reason I think the east coast made me feel so much more energetic was because of all of the different languages, races, and religions that I would observe in the matter of a few blocks.
That and the majority of the west coast and middle America, is a sprawling and unfriendly place to those without a motor vehicle. Not to mention being much more dangerous to the, the LGBTQ+, immigrant communities, public servants, and their allies.
But, honestly, that is much of why I came back here rather than taking my family up on their offer. Aside from the past traumas that often bubble to the surface when I see or visit them for too long.
Why take the easy road when I could forge new paths and help heal a community that I've grown to love?
Though my cover as a "sis white male" was blown a long time ago, my defiance in defense of those I feel are being unjustly treated out in the open, and the open fraternization with Law Enforcement in an effort to keep people safe never a secret I continue to try. Continue to work towards something that could be better for everyone.
Just please remember: Be you a gang member openly wearing your colors, someone with a badge on your chest, or just a hard working son of a bitch out to try to feed yourself. I offer nothing but respect to the pride in you beliefs even if I may not agree with them.
Though I do give you these warnings, no matter who you are:
Do not Endanger the Children and Keep your Poisons to Yourself.
I don't bark often, outside of trash on the ground and my own aches and pains, but those two things will get me calling for backup lickity fuckin' split.
And if I seem a little jumpy when I see your gun, blade, pup, or whatever choice of self protection you're carrying.
Don't take offense.
I've had people come at me from all sides and have failed to dodge those weapons on more than one occasion.
But if it is an emergency.
If there's a fire, flood, or some other disaster.
If you're hurt.
If you need help and I'm in earshot.
If I have the resources to help you.
I'll do my best.
And if can't or don't have the resources.
At the very least.
I'll point you in the right direction.
Or call someone that can help.
I will never stop being me.
I will never stop working to create peace between the communities no matter how impossible peace seems.
Just don't mind my salt and I won't mind yours.
Stay safe out there.
I woke early to take the placement exam at the local community college to see what general education level I am realistically at academically after having graduated high school nearly 20 years ago now.
People have been watching me since I got back in the valley. Not sure the who's what's and why's of all of it. But the result was me locking my bike, going into the main building to find out where I needed to go for the placement testing, and then walking out again less than five minutes later to see a guy riding off on my bike.
I tried to track him, but the by the time my brain caught up to the fact that it was indeed my bike the dude was riding off on I'd already lost sight of him and missed the direction he took. I tried tracking him, but at the end of it I couldn't run the blocks the way I needed to to follow because of this damned cracked rib.
Yeah, it's cracked.
I really don't fuggin know how it happened either. And that's the part that bugs the shit out of me. I don't remember getting hit or falling in a manner that would have caused it.
Regardless, it's been a week now, and the damned thing still hurts when I breath. Which has made my training go a lot slower, my mobility more trying, and my over all bullshit tolerance much less.
That's why I bought the bike. So that I would be able to get to and from work with little stress to the cracked rib and have energy enough to go between work/school/and maybe other work if I can pull something together.
And yes, I want to run out and replace the bike right now, but the budget is so tight it's getting to the point of being the difference between days instead of weeks, and though I did get the job I interviewed for it's still only offering minimum wage and just shy of full time hours which means the budget is going to stay on a razors edge until I can find something that pays a little better or I can get a grant to fund my work and research.
I might look like I have money, but aside from two month old shoes that I've nearly chewed through during my training the clothes and things I wear are from the clearance rack, the thrift shop, or I've had almost as long as I've been out of high school.
I take try to take care of myself and my belongings, make them last and survive. I invest in the things that I purchase. Trying to find the most cost efficient version of an item while taking into regards its sustainability.
It's part of my economics research.
Yes, I am hard on both because I work and play hard but at the end of it I'm still someone that shops cheap and only buys the expensive things when I think they'll legitimately survive the hardships that my body and belongings tend to go through between work, training, and the very rare days I give myself to relax.
Regardless, after the bike being stolen I was supposed to have an interview with a person about a more permanent place to stay later in the afternoon. However, as I was on the bus heading that direction I got a call from the person that was looking into the missing bike and asking about paperwork on it. I had, of course, taken the paperwork to the storage unit and filed it with the rest of the instruction manuals and documentation for my various tools and work equipment already. So, hoping that some sort of justice might be served, I got off at the next stop. But, being Saturday and buses running sparsely I quick walked as fast as my rib would allow me to the storage unit to check the paper work.
Of course the information needed was supposed to have been filled out by hand rather than being in the manual already, so the trip wasted, I quick marched as fast as I could back to the bus station to try and catch the bus, again, to make it to the appointment on time.
I met a man in his late 60's trying to get to the hospital for heart medication but in a similar living and mobility situation as my own. I wanted to offer to get him a room for the night since the shelter wasn't taking in people for beds until Monday. But, with the budget stretched as thin as it is and my trust issues being what they are, I listened politely and offered a few suggestions for making his mobility easier while racking my brain to remember if there were any other shelter options aside from the local mission. Partly for him, and partly because if I misstep on my budget again I'll be in the same situation very shortly.
I stood at the entrance of the bus and watched one of the bus employees telling an upset woman that she couldn't bring her stroller and laundry onto the bus.
Ribs hurting, anger boiling at the events of the morning, half asleep from my body being boomeranged between West Coast time and trying to prepare it for a newly acquired overnights position, while the realization that I was going to be late for the meeting hanging over me like a dark little rain cloud. I threw up my hands and walked the half hour back to the hotel to work on financial paperwork for school and try to get some semblance of forward momentum back into my day.
My inconsiderate ass, to tied up in my own bullshit to text the person I was supposed to be meeting with, received a message shortly after I got back to the room. Luckily they were polite enough to reschedule for Monday but I still felt like an absolute ass hat.
I could have met with them Sunday before the bike was stolen. Not to mention that the buses do not run on Sundays here.
For some reason the local powers that be think that people don't need to get to work and conduct business on Sundays. That would equate a roughly four hour hard march each direction.
All in an effort to both interview and be interviewed by a potential roommate. Which if my rib were not busted, I would do just out of spite to the asshole that made the decision to prevent those without a car from being able to have the dignity of mobility one day of the week. And if it weren't for an interview of sorts I would do it for the fun of it after assembling the proper gear and supplies.
Then, as I was nearing the end of the paper work, the FASFA started asking for tax return information. Which, of course, I have filed neatly away but is either in the storage unit or with an ex-wife who isn't talking to me right now. An hours hard walk away and to late in the day to make it back to the unit and have time to check before they closed the gates for the night I fell into an exhausted sleep while listening to the news.
And that's where I am now, woke by someone playing a harmonica and the overly loud conversations of people outside my hotel room.
Which, yes, I want to complain, but there's something strangely comforting in hearing a practicing musician.
But I'm awake now.
Between the pain in the rib preventing me from working myself hard enough to fall into anything resembling a restful slumber and waking me periodically when I roll into the wrong position. And trying to readjust to this dry heat that steals my energy much faster than the more humid climates. I still feel exhausted and need to focus on re hydration if I'm going to work and go to school without a car.
This past week has reminded me however, why I ran so hard to get away from this area to begin with. Tried to relocate, unsuccessfully, in my own weird way.
But also why I came back.
When I first visited this area something called to me. When I had my quite little library job, biking to and fro, and writing/telling stories about fantastical realms I was at peace.
I came back to see if I could find that peace again, try to reconnect with the people that I respect and hope to craft something of a future for this valley that helped my mind heal and rediscover my purpose in life.
But the thing I'm slowly rediscovering about this place is that the peaceful places I remembered are haunted by memories or I don't feel like I belong any more. Outside of being much more friendly to a person who prefers to travel by foot and rail, the reason I think the east coast made me feel so much more energetic was because of all of the different languages, races, and religions that I would observe in the matter of a few blocks.
That and the majority of the west coast and middle America, is a sprawling and unfriendly place to those without a motor vehicle. Not to mention being much more dangerous to the, the LGBTQ+, immigrant communities, public servants, and their allies.
But, honestly, that is much of why I came back here rather than taking my family up on their offer. Aside from the past traumas that often bubble to the surface when I see or visit them for too long.
Why take the easy road when I could forge new paths and help heal a community that I've grown to love?
Though my cover as a "sis white male" was blown a long time ago, my defiance in defense of those I feel are being unjustly treated out in the open, and the open fraternization with Law Enforcement in an effort to keep people safe never a secret I continue to try. Continue to work towards something that could be better for everyone.
Just please remember: Be you a gang member openly wearing your colors, someone with a badge on your chest, or just a hard working son of a bitch out to try to feed yourself. I offer nothing but respect to the pride in you beliefs even if I may not agree with them.
Though I do give you these warnings, no matter who you are:
Do not Endanger the Children and Keep your Poisons to Yourself.
I don't bark often, outside of trash on the ground and my own aches and pains, but those two things will get me calling for backup lickity fuckin' split.
And if I seem a little jumpy when I see your gun, blade, pup, or whatever choice of self protection you're carrying.
Don't take offense.
I've had people come at me from all sides and have failed to dodge those weapons on more than one occasion.
But if it is an emergency.
If there's a fire, flood, or some other disaster.
If you're hurt.
If you need help and I'm in earshot.
If I have the resources to help you.
I'll do my best.
And if can't or don't have the resources.
At the very least.
I'll point you in the right direction.
Or call someone that can help.
I will never stop being me.
I will never stop working to create peace between the communities no matter how impossible peace seems.
Just don't mind my salt and I won't mind yours.
Stay safe out there.
IT's Date Night
I decided to take myself on a date. Took a walk in the park, had a picnic at the outdoor seating at the shopping center, saw IT Chapter 2 and then took a starlit stroll back through the park and to “home”.
As a movie, IT chapter 2 was pretty entertaining, though I think some of the more emotional scenes would have had more impact had I rewatched the first one before going to see the sequel.
The jump scares were jumpy, the CG effects deployed fairly effectivly.
Though I do have to say that there were some very brutal scenes that hit home were deployed so well that some of the supernatural moments almost felt hokey by comparison. Though no less fun that the first film.
The second act of the film, leaned into the adult actors reacting to the traumas of their past. The acting was pretty solid all things considered. But again, I think a rewatch of the 1st chapter would have given more weight to these events.
The third act was a servicable monster movie, and having spent time with th characters and knowing what they went through made me care for their well being just a little more.
Without spoiling the ending I will note that there was a nice blending of the book and miniseries finalies while keeping with the over all tone of the modern films.
At the end of it I would have to give it the arbitrary rating of
B-
A servicable horror movie with some truely cringe worthy bouts of brutalism.
If viewed with the first part I would give the story, direction, and approach a solid
A-
Wednesday, September 4, 2019
Pizza on the Go
First night actually staying in Philadelphia and the walk from the train station was hot and sweaty.
Beautiful and lots of people around.
A lot of people sleeping on the street too, but you know. Such is life. I get rid of the tie and vest to let them dry out before the salt starts crusting them and dress light then head out into the night to take photos and do what I do while walking about.
Mostly it’s about showing support. Showing that walking at night should be something that no one should be afraid to do.
To the folks sleeping on the street.
A lot of people sleeping on the street too, but you know. Such is life. I get rid of the tie and vest to let them dry out before the salt starts crusting them and dress light then head out into the night to take photos and do what I do while walking about.
Mostly it’s about showing support. Showing that walking at night should be something that no one should be afraid to do.
To the folks sleeping on the street.
Try to help folks keep their eyes open.
Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it.
Make sure you drink plenty of water before you nap and save your good will or cash for when it’s really hot. Then use them to steal a little cool air during the hottest part of the day.
Or vice versa during the colder months.
Even if it’s just buying an apple.
Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it.
Make sure you drink plenty of water before you nap and save your good will or cash for when it’s really hot. Then use them to steal a little cool air during the hottest part of the day.
Or vice versa during the colder months.
Even if it’s just buying an apple.
Just remember to clean up after yourself.
Honestly folks.
If you’re out there and people see you taking care of the places you’re moving through or staying in it will help you get off the street and into safety more often. And you know, if you see someone that isn’t cleaning up after themselves then you know something is really wrong and they really need help.
Don’t be afraid to offer help. Even if it's just sitting with them for awhile.
~first pizza, then the river to make sure no one’s swimming, then back for a bath to clean my feet and some sleep~
Silver and Gold
So, thoughts, on thoughts.
I started the day after a long night of pontificating while out revisiting the monuments at night. It was cathartic, and a much easier hike in light clothing and without the sun beating down on my head. I went through a lot less water, that’s for sure.
This morning was finishing up my time in the African American History Museum. That’s a heavy one to visit. Mostly because of the bloody violent history that is so cautiously presented through the beauty of art. I have to admit though, there was a lot of thinking involved. And when looking at the pieces of finely crafted gold, with the minuscule wiring and presentation that I became very aware of the limitations of my fat old hams.
I started the day after a long night of pontificating while out revisiting the monuments at night. It was cathartic, and a much easier hike in light clothing and without the sun beating down on my head. I went through a lot less water, that’s for sure.
This morning was finishing up my time in the African American History Museum. That’s a heavy one to visit. Mostly because of the bloody violent history that is so cautiously presented through the beauty of art. I have to admit though, there was a lot of thinking involved. And when looking at the pieces of finely crafted gold, with the minuscule wiring and presentation that I became very aware of the limitations of my fat old hams.
Sure, I might be able to get some of that dexterity, but age and abuse to these poor little digits will not reach that level of skill. That said, it further proves my point in that the “savage” cultures taught the more “civilized” cultures far more than most would care to admit.
But, after that it was trying to clear my head, which is why I’m back at the Air and Space museum. It’s a beautiful place, to my brain that likes to tear things apart at any rate. Though I’m very disappointed that most of the exhibits are closed. It seems that it was that way the last time I was here as well. But hey, working with limited resources and knowledge alongside people with far more of both is kind of a specialty of mine.
But, after that it was trying to clear my head, which is why I’m back at the Air and Space museum. It’s a beautiful place, to my brain that likes to tear things apart at any rate. Though I’m very disappointed that most of the exhibits are closed. It seems that it was that way the last time I was here as well. But hey, working with limited resources and knowledge alongside people with far more of both is kind of a specialty of mine.
Into the Planetarium.
Hot Coffee, Cold Rain
Here I am, almost 2 weeks into staying in D.C.
I have honestly stopped keeping track of the days. Just going from place to place, inquiring about work in the places that I feel like I’m qualified to do it and passing on things that I’ve already done. It is not that I feel like I am above manual labor and those sorts of things. For me, as a person, it is that I feel exhausted chasing my tail around the mulberry bush looking for things that are not soul fulfilling for myself.
That’s why I keep going to the Museums, going to the places where I feel like I can help and be fulfilled while doing it. My soul has been ground down to a diamonds point by the places like that. I will not lie, nor will I turn my nose up at such work if I am truly hard up. But for the time being I can float a little longer. Try a little harder to make an impression on those that I wish to learn from and, in turn, teach what I have learned.
but for now, I play the part of the boujie student. Looking as though I have more than I do, but not letting on to the true extent of the resources, education, and talent that I have at my disposal.
I’ll admit, the “white privilege” I was born into has helped open many of those doors.
And hopefully, in the future, I will be able to use that stick to further open doors for those that need it more than I do at this juncture.
It’s scary, and a bit exhilarating, being out here floating. Living on borrowed credit and holding onto my hope and sanity with the will of a person that feels like they have nothing to lose but everything to gain.
Hopefully, the good will that I am building with the people around me is currency enough to keep me going, and maybe make a difference in the coming election year.
But if not, at least I’ll have a story to tell at the end of it.
I have honestly stopped keeping track of the days. Just going from place to place, inquiring about work in the places that I feel like I’m qualified to do it and passing on things that I’ve already done. It is not that I feel like I am above manual labor and those sorts of things. For me, as a person, it is that I feel exhausted chasing my tail around the mulberry bush looking for things that are not soul fulfilling for myself.
That’s why I keep going to the Museums, going to the places where I feel like I can help and be fulfilled while doing it. My soul has been ground down to a diamonds point by the places like that. I will not lie, nor will I turn my nose up at such work if I am truly hard up. But for the time being I can float a little longer. Try a little harder to make an impression on those that I wish to learn from and, in turn, teach what I have learned.
but for now, I play the part of the boujie student. Looking as though I have more than I do, but not letting on to the true extent of the resources, education, and talent that I have at my disposal.
I’ll admit, the “white privilege” I was born into has helped open many of those doors.
And hopefully, in the future, I will be able to use that stick to further open doors for those that need it more than I do at this juncture.
It’s scary, and a bit exhilarating, being out here floating. Living on borrowed credit and holding onto my hope and sanity with the will of a person that feels like they have nothing to lose but everything to gain.
Hopefully, the good will that I am building with the people around me is currency enough to keep me going, and maybe make a difference in the coming election year.
But if not, at least I’ll have a story to tell at the end of it.
Discovering the Self
I just wanted to put my thoughts together while I rest my legs and recharge my phone.
Going into the American Indian Museum is a thing.
For a lot of years I thought that I had native american blood flowing through my veins.
Which after exploring my ancestory I have found that not to be true.
The part of my heritage that gave the darker complexion to my skin was actually that bit of Turkish with a dash of the Mediterranean olive.
Which, after sitting in the sun for awhile darkens the skin similarly.
It was hard to understand growing up.
It’s funny , after the DNA tests were done some of my families response was, in reference to the Turkish heritage, was that we were “Part Terrorist”.
The ignorance of such a statement struck me like a blow. Rather than celebrating a part of our lineage that gave us something unique it was seen as something derisive.
As I explore the cultures of the world through these museums I’m hoping that I will be able to understand more of that part of my history and eventually see that part of the world with my own eyes.
The German part, the Scottish part, the English Part, and the Italian part are all proudly displayed and celebrated by various members of my family. I know that the labeling of the Turkish blood as "Terrorist" comes from a place of ignorance. And I will admit that in my youth, failing to understand the origins and reasoning behind the statements and actions of the elders around me. I fell into the same trap of reasoning.
That is, I almost did. Luckily I read...a lot.
I read a whole lot.
However, I am grateful for the place in which I grew up. A place where those that hated often had a louder voice than those did not. Seeing the quiet dignity of those that were often the targets of the hatred exemplified.
However, I am grateful for the place in which I grew up. A place where those that hated often had a louder voice than those did not. Seeing the quiet dignity of those that were often the targets of the hatred exemplified.
The museums that told the history. T
he libraries that stored the knowledge all helped me to better understand the area that I grew up in, Its history, and the things that it did both better and worse than other parts of the nation.
But up I go, to learn a little more, to understand a little more, and hopefully to bring a little more light to the darker places in both my mind and as I digest what I find there, to those around me.
Hobbeling Along
A morning of sorting through toys, tools, and costumes.
An afternoon at the movies to do some light research and get some choreography ideas.
There were several to choose from, some I hadn't seen yet, some I've already seen but wouldn't mind a re watch because of their quality.
But in the end, it was Hobbs and Shaw.
A franchise film that I would equate to the old Western Serials shown in the movie houses of the past.
The actual nuts and bolts of the plot were outlined in the trailers, so no real surprises in that regard. Super Virus that will wipe out the world is loose, super powered bad guy with army of henchmen out to get it, good guys must find McGuffin girl and McGuffin doctor to stop the virus and save the world.
One directorial choice I appreciated in this race and chase movie is that after the chase sequences the vehicles were often not drivable, or showed a realistic version of damage to it after the events ended. . The exception of course, being the Super bikes. Also, I did raise an eyebrow at a McClarin popping over curbs and across side walks with relative ease. But hey, it’s a movie.
The good guys end up saving the day, as they do, McGuffin girl ended up being just as capable as Hero Boys. And being a fan of the Wrastlin and fisticuffs that I am really appreciated the inventive ways that the good guy defeated the bad guys without the use of guns in a lot of the sequences.
The humor was pretty spot on for the most part as well, though I will admit some of the banter between the two leads could have used a little bit of reworking. But even in the moments that the dialogue wasn’t working, the chemistry between the two leads held the scenes together.
Also, again, McGuffin girl was just as capable as the Hero Boys. Which is a lovely twist of modern action movies that definitely is a sign that action movies are starting to move from Damsel in distress to “Damn she killed it in that dress.”
Thank you Atomic Blonde and Aunties LeFemme Nikita and the Matrix for paving the way.
What can I say, for me, silly action movies that don’t take themselves too seriously while at the same time imparting a message of teamwork and rising above expectations is the exact kind of fluff and filler I need on a Tuesday afternoon.
Let’s give it an arbitrary ranking then.
B+
Fun Action, Good Message, Humorous Through Lines, and Charismatic Leads.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)