Sunday, October 25, 2015


Shooting a homeless person, provocation I say. How stupid can you get.

She warned your college dude, didn't you listen? The newspaper clearly stated that she would break camera and use bear-spray when coming near the camp!

In what world are you living? Don't you know anything of being homeless?

I can keep asking you, but really, truth said, when a homeless person makes a threat, action need to follow or loosing face and life can be the consequence.

Ah, an example to enlighten the bubble-people. A little time ago, darkness hit Vancouver when a wind blew out the lights of the city. 

No electricity, no more communication, cellphones slowly loosing their juice. No firefighters, no ambulance, no police-force to protect.

In the shelter the staff got really scared, understaffed as usual, acknowledging dusk setting in when the emergence lights loosing their three-hour illuminating streak. 

"Management will come to hand out flashlights for you clients." 

They never came, no emergency procedure prepared, staff but two people strong, a flashlight in the left hand, holding on their balls with the right hand, nightfall here.

I don't mind, been surviving a freezing winter out in the bush. No tent, no more than a handful of rice and lentils, just the cloths on my body, a mark of my status among the clients. 

They know all too well what "the most excruciating pain I ever felt in my entire life" means (to quote the newspapers freelance journalist) and it's not being hit by a bear-spray. 

It's perishing without the option to die. Body holding on to the last inhale, when exhaling keeps commanding to let go every time, not knowing if I still have the strength to take another breath. Just lacking the courage not taking it, ending all. Death walks along my side, paving the way to simply fading out. 

So, retaining this memory in my back-pocket near my guts-ending,  
vehemence escorts my path. Darkness, becomes my friend, when disaster hits. 

Bubble-people run to the light, we take a step back, using the  wraps of obscurity to blend in because a shot takes out the brightest of lights, the easiest of targets.

The veil of darkness, once again, covers the bubbling pot of misery I once created in my past as a failed family-member, self-proclaimed hit-man, emotionless murderer or addicted kingpin, leaving death and debts all-over cities and villages.  

So, stop shining that flash-light in my eyes when I pass by reception on the way to the lounge, you scary shitless, useless pile of human bubble. You call yourself staff, as I can now sniff out your cold sweat armpits oder, revealing who's the real predator and who's the real pray in this arena called universe.

"You should go to bed, as we can not be responsible for your safety in this darkness when somethings happens!" She said. "My safety is my own responsibility, thank you, it always is." 

A unexpected response draining her conviction of any control she might have had left. Fleeing back behind her reception counter, she did, praying the three flashlights will hold until morning comes. 

It must have been a long graveyard-shift, still another one to come, don't you think?

So, if chicken-shit, can't scare me away from my homeless camp, for sometimes I haven't washed myself in months, and I know the skunk wears it stench as a protection, what would make me move?

You must have guessed it, for sure. 

Shooting and filming! Shining a spot-light on me, lifting the cover of my personal bubbling pot of misery, as getting a headline in the newspaper or making the evenings news-flash will surely lure out the real life, vindictive memory chimeras. 

Thus, I make a stand, lift my skunk-tail and spray... but, who's in excruciating pain, I ask you? 

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